


A Complicated Affair of Love and Obliviousness

by maikurosaki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adorable Dogs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Clint Barton, Implied Natasha Romanov/ Clint Barton, M/M, Obliviousness, Original Character(s), Shrunkyclunks, Stucky Big Bang 2016, modern!Buckycap!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maikurosaki/pseuds/maikurosaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is a former sergeant, honourably discharged after being seriously injured, turned custom furniture maker. With his studio in Red Hook, his brownstone in Brooklyn, and his memories of his time in Afghanistan, his life may not be the easiest but at least it's quiet. When the new neighbours move in, he doesn't expect his life or Jack's (dog/best friend/good listener/chewer of sneakers) to change all that much. That was before he befriended the blond neighbour, the one who seemed like he might have been born a couple of hundred years ago. The blond guy that, if he wasn't so oblivious, Bucky might have noticed had a lot in common with Captain America. Alas, nothing comes easy in Bucky's life. Not even love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Complicated Affair of Love and Obliviousness

**Author's Note:**

> I am greatly indebted to [leveragehunters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters), my beta, my cheerleader, my teacher. She stepped in when I needed her the most and she encouraged me, supported me and cut mercilessly all those useless _just_ , _and_ , and _so_. She had immense patience with my wonky grammar, my paragraph organization, and she repaired my horrible syntax (English is my second language, so this should tell you how much this girl worked). I wouldn't have made it without her. I learned so much from her and just when I thought that I wouldn't be able to make it, she managed to cheer me up, give me advice and make me move forward. Thank you so much, **leveragehunters** , I really appreciate your help. It was a blast working with you. <3 Please, go and read her stories, follow her on Tumblr because she's amazing.
> 
> To my artists, [ theoneandonlywisewoman](http://this-simple-mind.tumblr.com/>this-simple-mind</a>%20and%20<a%20href=), thank you for choosing my story, for reading unbetaed chapters, and not run for the hills when you saw the rough draft. You are both amazing and I can't express how grateful I am that both of you chose my story. It's been an honor. Please, go and follow them on Tumblr. They are incredible artists. 
> 
> Thank you, **omletlove** , for being the first to show enthusiasm for my story.
> 
> And last, but not least, thank you to the mods [thestuckylibrary](https://thestuckylibrary-bigbang.tumblr.com/). You worked so hard to make this experience enjoyable for everyone involved, to organize everything. Your endless patience and your love for this pairing made this challenge possible and I want to thank you for your hard work and enthusiasm.

Chapter One

_In which Bucky is as oblivious as they come_

James Buchanan Barnes, better known as Bucky, would like to stipulate from the very beginning that when everything started, he wasn't having a great day. And while this wouldn't excuse future events, or his behavior throughout them, it should be recognized that there were extenuating circumstances, that he could have an excuse note - mostly filled with “ _Bucky was having a bad day, so it was hard for him to concentrate. Bucky was also a lunatic for talking about himself in third person.”_ Huh. The last bit sounded exactly like Becca. Odd.

Anyway, this story should begin with an excuse: Bucky Barnes wasn't having a great day. It had started in the wee hours of the morning when Jack, hisdogslashhiseverything, woke him up by staring at him. It was his special way of dealing with Bucky when his master refused to wake up. First, Jack would huff and puff, changing his place in Bucky's bedroom a million times. When that tactic didn't work, Jack would choose his next plan of attack, which involved sleeping as close to Bucky's prone form as possible, maybe even licking his ear a few times, because his dog was an asshole and no one was going to tell him otherwise. When even _that_ failed, Jack adopted the creepiest approach. He would sit in front of Bucky, wherever his face was pointing, and then silently stare. You see, Jack was a brilliant strategist.

This should also be added to Bucky's excuse note.

Bucky had stirred under the creepy stare, opened his eyes, groaned and pulled himself up to take Jack outside. His dog rarely needed to go out during the night, but God help Bucky if he didn't let Jack out when he decided he had to. The stare would be accompanied by a small whine every once in a while to make him feel like the most horrible human being ever. So there he was, four o'clock in the morning, yawning his face off and watching his dog scent something, changing the chosen place about five hundred times before finally deciding which identical patch of grass to bless with his pee. He was really too tired and too old for this shit.

The excuse note should also be filled with _Bucky Barnes can't function as a human being without having his daily intake of coffee,_ which was of course the reason why he tripped over air, almost slamming his face into the nightstand (that he'd made for himself, something he'd been happier about before he'd almost brained himself on it) because he was classy like that.

After managing to grab a few more hours of sleep, he slipped in the shower, almost breaking his leg, his calf still burning an hour later due to the strain. By then, Jack was waiting for him in the hallway, leash in his mouth and another sneaker chewed, and Bucky Barnes was convinced that it was going to be a terrible no good Saturday. His t-shirt still had coffee stains, one of his sneakers had a hole in it, and no matter how many times he ran his fingers through his hair, it still looked like a bird's nest.

This was where the story found him: in mid rant.

Bucky Barnes opened the door and let his dog follow him outside.

“Do I chew on your toys? I don't think so. Do I eat your cookies?” Bucky stopped, waiting pensively as Jack tilted his head just so, but quickly resumed. “It happened once and vodka was involved, so you've still got no excuse. Do I donate your old toys to the shelter without asking? Nope, because I'm classy like that. Point is, Jack, you keep chewing on my shoes, you'll have to find a job to support your fetish. You can join the circus. That's it! You join the circus, find a way to charm the public and make them love you, so daddy can cash in and buy all the sneakers he wants. And some cookies for you. If, and that's a big if, you behave and leave daddy's shoes alone,” Bucky stopped long enough to take the keys out of his pocket and then added, sounding defeated, “but something tells me you won't.”

“That sounds like doggy cruelty to me. Should I alert the doggy police?” The voice startled him enough to drop his keys. He bent down for them, eventually glancing at the new guy across the rail, offering a hesitant smile. The man was tall and fit, dark brown skin stretching perfectly over his well-defined arms, the muscles bulging slightly as he held the moving box. He was so clean-cut Bucky started to burn with a strong sense of inadequacy. Even on his best days, he didn't clean up that well. The new guy smirked. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

“No problem. I was too busy arguing with Jack to notice you.” Hearing his name, hisdogslashtraitor preened and wagged his tail. Twice. Bucky was utterly convinced Jack was an evil genius in the making.

“Hi, Jack.” The other guy freed one of his hands by balancing the box on the rail and Jack sniffed it as he got a scratch under his chin, his ultimate favourite spot. “Is your master always prone to animal cruelty?”

“Well, what about Bucky cruelty?” he sputtered. “There's only so many pairs of shoes I can buy before the sales assistant thinks I have a fetish.”

“He likes to chew things?”

“Just my sneakers.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “He likes to see me walking around like a homeless person.”

“So say we want to borrow a cup of sugar or a pair of sneakers, you're not the man?”

“With the sugar, maybe. With the sneakers, not so much.” Jack stared accusingly at his master but Bucky ignored him in favor of giving the guy a friendly smile. He was still holding what looked like a heavy box. “Sorry, man, I'm Bucky. You've met Jack. You must be our new neighbor.”

“Yeah.” The new guy put the box down and extended his hand. “Name's Sam Wilson.”

“Bucky Barnes.” He shook Sam's hand. A strong, firm handshake. Bucky had always been able to tell a lot about people from the way they shook hands, found it said a lot about their personalities. And Sam was most definitely not found lacking.

“Bucky?!”

“Named after my grandfather.” Bucky folded his arms. “James Buchanan Barnes is the official title. My little sister couldn't say either of them so I got stuck with Bucky.”

“Oh man, I hope you managed to find a suitable nickname for her too.”

“Well, her name's Rebecca so all I got was Becca. Not nearly as bad as mine.”

“Did you get a lot of shit in high school?”

“Not much, but the guys at basic had a field day with it.”

This time Sam's eyebrows raised in apparent delight. “You're a Vet? I was with 58th Pararescue. Two tours.”

“32nd Infantry. Three tours”

“Bravo Company?!”

“Yeah.” Bucky's shoulders tensed slightly, his hand gripping tight around Jack's leash. His life in the military was nothing he wanted to remember. He'd put that aside five years ago. He was done with it.

“Wow, I heard about you guys,” Sam replied, sounding a bit more cautious. “You're looking at one of the new counselors at the VA center down on Chapel Street. You know, if you ever need anything or just to stop by.”

“I'll think about it.” Bucky smiled back tightly. He was definitely _not_ interested in rehashing the sordid story of his time in the Army. Sam seemed nice, and DADT may have been repealed for some time now, but Bucky didn't know what he'd think about gay servicemen. His experience hadn't been the best; he'd decided a long time ago he wouldn't be as open with other servicemen as he'd used to be.

“Sam, did you see that bo-” The man who'd spoken stopped as soon as he saw Bucky and Jack, who perked up again, obviously thinking of additional scratches.

Bucky was kind of left with his mouth hanging open. Seriously, both new neighbors looked as ripped as Calvin Klein underwear models and he was supposed to _not_ stare at them? Because the new guy? Well, two hundred pounds of pure American beefcake so out of Bucky's league that even if the guy _had_ been available, Bucky wouldn't have dreamed of even daring to flirt with him. His eyes were an incredible shade of blue. That and the strong jaw did things to him, things he'd rather not think about. Well, at least he could be pretty sure his new neighbors weren't homophobic trash. And these two guys made an incredible pair. It reinforced the idea that beautiful and well-adapted people found each other in secret bases throughout the world and everybody was keeping the addresses of those bases secret. Goddamn it!

“You already made friends with the new neighbours?” The new guy had a shy smile playing on his lips. _Goddamn it goddamn it goddamn it_. Bucky would have loved to climb this guy like a tree if, you know, he was available and Bucky wasn't _Bucky_.

“Yeah, this is Bucky and his dog, Jack.” Sam introduced them with a knowing smirk on his face. Probably he was used to people drooling over his boyfriend. Bucky frowned a little. He didn't want to be _that_ guy so he smiled back, keeping his distance, and shook hands with the other guy.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Steve Rogers.” Jack got a few more scratches as Steve released Bucky's hand and reached down to his dog. He was in heaven, obviously deciding it was his lucky day.

Bucky nodded. “You're a vet, too?” His question drew a smirk from Sam and confusion from Steve.

“Bucky here is a vet.” Sam added to answer the silent question on Steve's face.

“Oh, I see.” Steve's brows furrowed slightly. “I'm still on active duty.” This time it was clear that they were both waiting for something from Bucky and when he only nodded in understanding, Steve looked relieved and Sam's face was a perfect mixture of confusion and amusement. Luckily, Jack chose that moment to put his paw on Bucky's leg in a silent plea to get a move on to the park.

“Well, that's my cue! It was great meeting you both. Welcome to the neighborhood and all that. Need to head to the park now or Jack will be the one selling me to the circus.” Sam shook his head, chuckling.

“Great talking to you, Bucky,” Steve added and smiled a little warmer when he saw Sam's reaction.

“If you need any help, just let me know. I'll be back in an hour or so.”

“It's fine man, but thanks,” Sam said.

“Then see you around guys.”

“See you, Bucky. And Jack,” Steve said.

Both of them nodded and smiled in unison and, oh, how Bucky hated those couples. You know the type: the ones who were so disgustingly made for each other. Not to mention, so fit and clean cut. Seriously, how come some people had their lives so put together? Not that Bucky should complain.

When they reached the park, he threw the ball for Jack and sighed. He sounded ungrateful. He should be more careful how he thought about his life. He wasn't ungrateful. He'd worked hard to get where he was now. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't sleep very well last night, or that he was such a mess this morning and his new neighbors were hot and not even sweaty as they moved their heavy boxes that was affecting him. And he had to admit that even on his best days, he didn't exactly look successful. Not like someone who owned their own studio in Red Hook, not like someone who made custom furniture for people with enough money to pay for such unnecessary luxuries.

It was still surreal. A couple of months ago, Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries (seriously, how was this his life?) had bought a small table from him. It was nothing much, but the lady had been really nice and she'd created free publicity for him, the likes of which was, at times, a little overwhelming.

Jack barked a few times to get his attention, only to see the ball bouncing above his head. Sometimes it was nice to tease his dog like this.

Up to that point, he'd sold most of his furniture on commission in a small shop, attracting hipsters and the aficionados of interesting and unique furniture, probably the ones who hated IKEA with a passion. After Ms. Potts had purchased the table, his phone had rung off the hook in his small office and he'd had to refuse several commissions because, while the money was good, the time was not so much. Seriously, did people expect him not to sleep or eat for the rest of his life?

Dean Warren, the owner of the shop, had called to say all of Bucky's pieces had sold at incredible prices, that his commissions were the best he'd ever had. Bucky was happy for him and, honestly, this made paying the bills and buying the wood so much easier. He'd also accepted commissions from people who seemed more level-headed, but it was agreed between him and Dean that Ms. Potts' purchase had been the one to save Bucky's business. Now, how Ms. Potts had found him in the first place, that was a story that remained unknown to Bucky. And he honestly didn't want to know. He was just happy that he'd sold her that table, made some money, and could continue to do what he loved.

He stared down at his stained t-shirt. He wasn't going to let some too-hot neighbors make him feel bad about himself or his life. He was a bit of a mess, but who cared? His family was great, his friends respected the fact that he'd always been a mess, and he had Jack. What more could he possibly want? He looked around and smiled. Nothing. It was a beautiful Saturday and he was going to enjoy it.

An hour later when they returned home, the new neighbors had managed to move all their boxes inside and the surroundings were again peaceful. Bucky shook his head and went to answer his landline. It had started ringing as soon as he'd stepped inside as if the person on the other end had sensed his arrival.

“How are you, Ma?”

“How did you know it was me, Bucky?” his mother answered back delightedly, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You're the only one who still insists on using the landline. Everyone else calls me on the cell, even dad.”

“Well, call me old fashioned but I don't want to call you on a cell phone, Bucky. Modern technology doesn't necessarily mean better technology. And if I were to buy one, you and your dad would have a fit and wage war against each other about whether I should get an Android or an iPhone, so thanks, but I'll stick with the landline.”

“Fine, fine, be a more stubborn woman. I dare you.” She just chuckled in response.

“How is my favourite son?”

“Ma, you only have one son.”

“Yes, but you're my favourite, too. Luckily for you. So how are you? How's business?”

“Fine. Business is great. Some new neighbours moved in today.”

“They finally sold the old Hurler’s place?”

“Yeah, to a couple, both of them in the army. Well, one of them's a vet, the other's still on active duty.”

“Oh, that's wonderful, Bucky! Are they hot?”

“Mom, Jesus!” He rubbed his face.

“Don't take the Lord's name in vain, Bucky Barnes. What? Can't a mother think about this sort of thing?”

Personally Bucky thought that God could handle a little anger addressed to Him, but he wisely shut up. “Yeah, but only _other_ moms. Not my mom. And they're probably married or about to be by the looks of it. Disgustingly cute together, too.”

His mom chuckled. “Envy gets you nowhere, Bucky.”

“I guess not. So how are you? How's dad?”

“Well, actually daddy wants to speak with you, that's why I called. I just wanted to hear your voice before I pass you to him.”

“Mom, we spoke for over an hour two days ago.”

“Yeah, but I miss you. You need to come and see us soon, Bucky, or I'll have to come and see you in New York. Who knows, maybe I'll get to meet that Stark fellow now that you've met his girlfriend.”

“Mom, please, Stark is not worth meeting. And for that matter, I met his girlfriend only once and the only reason I knew she _was_ his girlfriend was because Dean was with me.”

“Oh, Bucky, your lack of interest in Avengers-related gossip disappoints me. I did not raise a son who wasn't curious.”

Bucky laughed out loud, making Jack bark. “Okay, mom, I'll keep that in mind. Next time I see Ms. Potts, I'll ask her for the inside scoop on the Avengers or whatever they call themselves these days.”

“You do that.” He could almost see his mother smile softly in her sun lit kitchen, puttering around. “Now, looks like your dad is losing patience so I'll pass you to him. Go and eat somewhere nice today, and I'll talk to you soon. Love you. Wait for dad.”

“Love you too, mom.” There was a bit of shuffling around and then his father's voice boomed enthusiastically on the other end of the line.

“Bucky! How are you, son?”

“I'm fine, dad. Eating all my vegetables, saying all my prayers before bed. Even managed to brush my teeth before going to bed twice this week.” Bucky ran with their usual jokes.

“Very well, very well.” His dad laughed. “Good to know you still manage to keep the Barnes traditions alive and intact.”

“I do try. So mom said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah, I meant to call you on your cell, but mom was determined to talk to you, too. Guess what happened this week, Bucky? You won't believe it!”

“What?”

“I managed to fix her, son. She purrs like a kitty.”

“You managed to fix Betsy?!” Betsy was an old running joke in the Barnes family. His father always loved to work on her, though he must have lost hope a long time ago that he'd ever see her running. She was a 1942 750 cc Harley Davidson with side-car, and she was a beauty. Dad had inherited her from his father, the original James Buchanan Barnes, and almost every one of her pieces was original. Bucky was suddenly hit with a deep longing for his family.

“Yeah, son. I sure did. I actually managed to convince your mom to record the sound she makes when I start her up. Glorious, son, I tell you it was a truly glorious moment.”

“So you're planning to take mom for a ride?”

“She's not convinced about the whole idea but I feel I can emotionally blackmail her if I play my cards right.”

“George Barnes, you'll do no such thing! I worry plenty for your heart, I don't need you to ride across the country on death-on-wheels. And I certainly refuse to accompany you,” his mom exclaimed in the background, making George chuckle cheekily.

“Come on, woman, live a little! You're only fifty-seven.”

“George Barnes, one of these days me and the Maker will have a word about your stubbornness and He'll have to give me a lot of explanations.”

“God, I miss you guys so much,” Bucky blurted, his emotions not as tightly controlled as before. The events of the last five years had taken their toll. He was learning to be more in tune with everything, but it wasn't easy. Men weren't encouraged to be in tune with much of anything these days. George Barnes was no fool, however, and he caught the tinge of wistfulness in his son's voice.

“Well, son, we miss you, too. I was talking with your mom, just the other day about whether you'd like to come for a weekend. You know, you're your own boss and surely you could spare a few days. Eat your mom's good cooking and apple pie, see Betsy, maybe take her for a test drive.”

“I'd love that, dad,” Bucky sighed. “Let me have a look at my commissions. I'll let you know at the end of this week, all right?”

“Sounds good to me, son. Now, do you want to hear Betsy?”

“Yeah, I sure do.”

Dad and son spent another half an hour waxing poetic about Betsy and her growl, her rumble, and her satisfied purr. George didn't hang up until he extracted a promise from his son to truly consider coming to stay with them over the long weekend.

His parents had moved to his grandparents' farm in Indiana half a year before the Battle of New York. Even now, Bucky couldn't believe how lucky they all were they hadn't been there. The decision to move had been made in the aftermath of his grandfather's death. His grandfather had left his farm to all of his children, but George’s siblings had sold their share of the farm to Bucky's dad, purchases funded by the sale of their New York brownstone. Except for George's oldest brother who'd simply signed his over, an incredibly generous act. Bucky's parents had sold most of the land leaving them more than enough for their needs; the few animals left were more than happy to see themselves in the care of city dwellers.

Secretly, the whole family was happy to see someone living in their childhood home. George's oldest brother, Mark, confessed drunkenly one night (as they relaxed with beers, a reward for a hard day spent moving Bucky's parents into the house) that he hadn't been able to sleep, thinking the house was going to fall to ruin. His grandfather had almost reached ninety but his death still hit everyone hard, no one more than Bucky. They'd shared more than a name. At times, many had said they were sharing an old soul and Bucky tended now, more than ever, to believe them.

So when the Battle of New York ripped its way through the city, his parents were safe in Indiana, Becca was getting her Masters degree in applied physics at Berkeley, and Bucky was trying to find himself somewhere in California, walking the first miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. It took him ten days to reach the first outpost and by then Captain America and the Avengers had saved New York. He'd spoken briefly with his parents and Becca, making sure everyone was all right, and then he'd gone back on the trail. The days when Bucky had wanted to be a hero were long gone. He'd lived through the cruel realities of war. For his part, the gung-ho alien-fighting superheroes could keep it.

He'd returned to New York four months later with a beard, long hair, and a desperate desire to leave behind all the nightmares, all the pain, all the suffering he'd been carrying since he'd left the army.

Six months later, finally using the money he'd inherited from his grandpappy, he'd rented a small studio in Red Hook, and a brownstone in Brooklyn, and he'd finally moved in with Jack, his kindred spirit (even when he was being an asshole).

Three years later, and Bucky was happy. Sure, at times the old wounds painted on his body like an unanswerable enigma would forcibly remind him of what he'd been through. Of what he survived. For some reason, New York or Washington were the destinations of choice for the occasional monsters or evil scientists battling for world domination.

And on some days – like today, for example – he was painfully reminded that there was no one in his life. But the world was full of single people; Bucky was far from being a special snowflake. He suspected he wasn't going to interact much with his new neighbors, no matter how friendly they seemed.

Bucky should have learned by now that when it came to his own predictions, he was usually wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

It was almost two weeks later, on a chilly morning when he was about to drive to work. Jack was ready and he opened the door to see a red-haired woman standing there. Sam was standing next to her, a mixture of amusement and embarrassment on his face. The woman was gorgeous, dressed in tight leather pants and a white blouse, but dangerous was outweighing gorgeous to his former soldier's radar.

“Hey, Sam. What's up?”

“Hey Bucky. Nothing much. My friend Natasha here wanted to introduce herself since she's going to be coming around often enough.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Bucky.” He extended his hand and Natasha shook it, smiling slightly. Her handshake was firm too, but there was a dangerous undercurrent to it – like a black window ready to strike, a spider waiting in the shadows. Instinct had never lead Bucky astray, and the handshakes had never lied. This woman was dangerous with capital D.

“Natasha.”

Her voice sounded raspy, like a jazz singer, and she had that allure. But his mama raised him well so he asked politely, “Are you a vet, too?” Sam and Natasha exchanged glances, apparently amused by something.

“You could say that. What do you do?”

“I make custom furniture.” Bucky shrugged off the odd feeling they were sharing a laugh at his expense, though he failed to see exactly why.

“Anything worth mentioning?”

“Nope, nothing much.” She frowned as she focused her intense gaze on Sam again, who this time openly laughed.

“I told you.”

“Told her what?” Bucky asked a bit defensively.

“Nothing, man, sorry. We'll just let you get on with everything. Sorry to bother you.” At least Sam looked apologetic. Natasha kept her blank stare focused on him and for once Jack stood by Bucky's side, not preening as he usually did. Bucky said his goodbyes and got in his truck.

He had the distinct impression that what had just occurred had been a test. The question was whether he'd failed it or not.

 

Chapter Two

_Obliviousness, Thy Name Is Bucky_

 

A few weeks later, Bucky found himself in a bookstore. Babysitting. Sometime, he'd like to have a better explanation as to why this sort of thing kept happening to him. Some idea as to what was about him that meant he ended up having a stare-off with a five-year-old kid, but you know what? Bucky had none. Zilch. Nada.

Luz stared back at him, pouting slightly. Bucky tried valiantly to hold her gaze, pouting just as much. Seriously, he had no idea. Luz pouted a little bit more, making her frown look adorable.

Bucky caved.

“Oh, for God's sake, fine!” He threw his arms up. Luz grinned, thrilled by her success. “I'll read to you, I'll use all the voices, even though everyone'll hear me. But I'm telling Jack you were mean to me.”

“Jack loves me more,” she replied, perfectly calm, and shoved the book into his hands. Bucky's shoulders sagged in defeat.

Sometimes he really was pathetic. He glanced at the book in his hands. He'd abandoned his studio, chased off by the cupboard that was taunting him. He couldn't find a model suited for the period he was looking for. Looking for a distraction, he'd packed up early, and headed to Carlo's bookstore, hoping for something to drown out the cupboard's taunting.

It was a chilly Wednesday and nothing seemed right. Sometimes Bucky woke up and knew it was going to be a shitty day. Knew by the way he squinted into nothing. He'd boil in pent-up energy and freeze each time he'd try something different. He'd eat, craving something he could never quite find, a hunger he could never quite satisfy. Like old parchment, his back would crackle and creak, would fight movement, making him slow, filling him up with useless anger. His leg hurt, his shoulder hurt, his body was nothing but a mass of old wounds, deep scars, and mangled muscles, shrouded in dry skin so scarred even the devil himself would run if he caught a glimpse.

Bucky's hands clutched the book just a bit tighter. Today was one of those days.

“Are you going to start reading?” Luz rolled her pretty eyes at him and Bucky scowled at the book then at her, no meaning or intensity behind it.

“I hate you,” he mumbled opening it.

“No, you don't. You call me the Luz of your life,” Luz replied and Bucky sighed in defeat. Again. Sometimes there was no winning in his life.

“That was before you made me do the voices. In public. Where everyone can hear.”

“But, Bucky-bear.” She really was too adorable for her own good. “There's no one else.” And it was true. Carlo's used bookstore was rarely busy. The occasional hipster or nerd or desperate person - like Bucky - would come in, hoping to find something under all those dusty volumes. Carlo glanced in their direction and smiled slyly at Bucky. Alas, he was, in fact, the only adult sitting among the old children's books, some of them with pages torn, covers scrawled on and doodled in. Isidora had all but begged Bucky to watch Luz for an hour when she ran into him earlier.

This was what Bucky wanted to believe.

In reality, their discussion went like this:

“Quieres ganar un poco de dinero, chico bonito?” It worried Bucky how undisturbed she'd been about her leering. She even winked at him.

“Are you soliciting? Because it feels like you're soliciting.” He'd sipped from his bitter coffee - black as his soul - totally unimpressed, while Isidora just laughed in his face.

“You wish! Please, watch Luz while I run some errands. If I take her with me, she'll get bored and then she'll ask for dessert and then -”

“Got it! Lots of complaints, tantrums, dramas.”

“Exactly.” Isidora had smiled, a cunning edge on the corners of her lips. “Just read her a book and you should be fine.”

“How did you know I was here?” Carlo had dropped a book at that point and Isidora had shrugged unrepentant, making Bucky take a breath in defeat. “Why did I even bother asking? You know, one of these days, I am going to tell Santos you're stalking me.”

“It's not my fault you're a fully qualified babysitter and you offer your services for free.” She'd dared to wriggle her eyebrows at him.

“I babysat your sister when I was sixteen. Get over it!” Her parents had been more than happy to have Bucky babysit, especially after they found out that he was gay. _Mami, papi, Bucky and I broke up. He is gay now. Can I have some orange juice, please?_ Yeah, Isidora was unique even back then.

“Never!” Isidora had dramatically kissed Luz on the cheek and slapped his shoulder. “I'll be back in an hour, my lovelies. Wait for me!”

“Where would we go?” he'd asked incredulously, but yeah, Isidora just slammed the door in his face. Luz looked up at him. Bucky glared at Carlo again, who pretended he was really busy behind the counter. He might or might not have grumbled under his breath about traitors and stalking friends.

He and Isidora had known each other since preschool. In high school, they'd dated a few times, before Bucky kind of realized he was more into hard muscles and stubble than soft curves and shiny hair. She was one of the first to find out about Bucky and one of the first to slap him on his back and offer her eternal friendship. They'd occasionally spoken during his tours when Bucky really needed someone to talk to and Becca had been too busy or too tired. When he'd returned, almost in one piece, his mind still full of nightmares and profanity and defeat, Isidora had stood her ground and offered companionship when there was none to be found. Even Santos Rodriguez, Isidora's husband, had warmed up to him and occasionally shared business tips, though Santos, with his carpenter business, was far more industrious than Bucky.

Bucky was grateful for their presence in his life, grateful for Luz's loyalty and affection, which was why he started reading _Christopher Robin Gives Pooh a Party._ Not even under threat of death would he admit that he loved Pooh perhaps even more than Luz.

When the hour was nearly over, they'd gone through three more books and Luz had filled the entire bookstore with so much giggling that even sour Carlo found himself laughing. One or two lost customers had been entranced by the crystalline sound and, for once, everything seemed right in Bucky's world.

“Oh, Bucky, you are great!” Luz exclaimed as soon as he finished reading the last line and she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck with the innocent, genuine affection only a kid could offer. Something tight uncoiled in his heart and pressed past his ribs as he gingerly returned her embrace. She was so small that most of her back was covered by his left hand.

“Hey, Luz, remember our promise?” Bucky said suddenly. She stepped back and smiled softly at him: such naked affection, such joyous existence, such innocence that needed to be protected at all costs. Some time ago, when Luz was not so happy at preschool, Bucky had suggested that Isidora read her Pooh. This promise had been directly inspired by the words of the honey-obsessed bear.

She patted Bucky's heart and said softly, “I am braver than I believe, stronger than I seem, and smarter than I think.”

“That's right, Luz of my life.” He hugged her again because she was such a tiny human and he loved her dearly.

“Hey, Bucky.” The voice startled both of them and made them look up just in time to see a shyly smiling Steve Rogers.

“Hey, Steve! How are you?” Bucky stuttered as he let go of Luz, who narrowed her beautiful almond eyes at the new addition.

“I'm fine, thank you. I have a couple of days off and decided to re-stock. Is this your daughter?” Before Bucky could answer, Luz decided to take matters into her own two little hands.

“Bucky can't have babies. He loves other daddies. He's just my babysitter.” Bucky groaned, almost face-palming. This was not how he was planning to come out to his new neighbors. He focused on Steve who crouched next to them looking a little flustered but no more than usual.

“Oh, I see. My name is Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Steve! I'm Luz. I'm five.” They shook hands, Luz's little hand disappearing completely into Steve's. For some reason, Bucky found that to be quite cute.

“Wow, you're a young lady now.”

“Mummy says so too. I'm going to be a sister. There's a little brother inside mummy's tummy. Do you have brothers?

“That's really nice. And no, I don't have any brothers.”

“Do you have sisters?”

“No, I don't have any sisters either.”

“That's sad.” Luz patted his cheeks. “If you want, you can come and play with me and Bucky-Bear and Jack. Bucky-Bear can read and do the voices and he's really funny.”

“Is he now?” And yes, Steve definitely had a smirk blooming on his full lips. Bucky groaned again this time flushing properly.

“Luz, not everyone appreciates my voices. Only you.”

“And Jack.”

“And Jack,” Bucky amended. This was really embarrassing, though he didn't exactly know why. At the end of the day, Steve was gay, too. And he bet that sooner or later, he and Sam were going to adopt some really cute children and be the nicest, greatest, most attractive and put together family that ever roamed the earth.

Wow, Bucky really had some bitterness stuffed into him. He shouldn't be this bitter. His life was far nicer than what he'd expected when he returned from Afghanistan with half his body burnt and bruised and scarred.

“Mummy!” Luz suddenly exclaimed and ran to hug Isidora, who hugged back and kissed her head.

“All good?” she asked looking down at Bucky and glancing curiously at Steve.

“All good. Your daughter's already learned how to pout properly, so you should be proud of her. She made me do exactly what she wanted.”

“She is my daughter after all.” Isidora glanced again at Steve. “I'm sorry for Bucky. He was raised by wolves somewhere in the Arctic so he doesn't know the proper etiquette for social encounters. I'm Isidora and I guess you met my daughter, Luz.”

“Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” Isidora studied him thoughtfully. “Your face seems familiar to me. Have we met before and I forgot all about it?”

“Nah, I don't think so.” Steve paled at the words, biting gently at his bottom lip and Bucky admitted to himself that it was his duty to protect his new neighbor from the hurricane that Isidora could be.

“Steve's my new neighbour. He and his partner moved in the old Hurler's place. They moved a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well, that explains it. Sorry, pregnant lady slowly descending into insanity.” She shook her head. “I can't believe they finally managed to sell the old Hurler's place. It stayed vacant for so long I thought Bucky might have to grow old without having neighbors to complain about.”

“He complains about the neighbours a lot?”

“Only when he's his old grumpy self.”

“I'm not grumpy.” Bucky might have pouted. Judging by the amused twinkle in Steve’s eyes, he definitely pouted.

“Sure thing, Ebenezer. Well, it was nice meeting you, Steve, but we really must get going. Come on, Luz, say goodbye to Bucky and let's go and prepare dinner for daddy.”

“Can I chop onions?” Luz asked as she hugged Bucky, making him laugh softly, while her mother just rolled her eyes.

“No, you can't chop onions, but you can give me a glass of water and a handkerchief then _I'll_ chop onions.”

“Fine.” Luz waved at both of them.

“See you later, Luz de mi vida”, Bucky said, then mockingly frowned at Isidora, who grinned back. Her pointy teeth almost made him laugh. “You owe me, Isidora Rodriguez.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” She pulled Luz towards the entrance. “It was nice running into you and I hope to see you soon, Steve.” Before either of them could reply, they were left alone among children's books, looking after her with various degrees of bemusement.

“So welcome to the neighbourhood?” Bucky said finally getting off the floor with Steve's help. The man was dressed in a soft looking blue Henley and dark jeans and Bucky tried valiantly not to feel guilty for ogling his new neighbor. Steve's baseball cap threw dark shadows over his blue eyes. At the same time, it bothered him to see Steve once more almost wrinkle-free, as if he'd been taken out of a box to be paraded around. Bucky was very aware that his black t-shirt had a hole in the side, that it was only hidden by his faded red flannel shirt. It wasn't like his mom hadn't taught him how not to be a slob, it was just that these days, Bucky didn't really feel the inclination to try.

“Thank you,” Steve said earnestly, grabbing his pile of books again. Bucky glanced at them, noticing that most of them were historical with a few related to art.

“Did you manage to find everything you wanted?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I got most of what I was looking for.”

“In that case, do you want to grab a late lunch? Watching Luz deprived me of the opportunity to cure my wallow-in-self-pity tendencies with some tacos from Danny's food truck. Do you want some?”

“I've never had tacos from Danny's, so sure, I'll give them a try.”

“You've never had tacos from Danny's food truck?” Bucky shook his head as they went to counter so Steve could pay for the books. “This is a crime and must be remedied as soon as possible.” Carlo started to punch the buttons of the cash register but Bucky scowled at him: “Don't think I will forget this, Carlo! Your betrayal says a lot about your character.”

“She just asked me whether you were here because she tried the studio and you didn't answer.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll keep this in mind, old man. And next time when Tina asks me whether you're available for dinner, I'll just say you already ate.”

“You wouldn't do that.” The horror on Carlo's face made Bucky chuckle.

“You're right. I wouldn't, but it'd serve you right.”

“Sometimes you're just too heartless, Bucky. Joking like that with an old man.” He smiled politely at Steve. “Don't believe anything this punk tells you. You want to know the truth about Bucky Barnes, you come to me.”

“I'll do that, sir.” Steve's lips curled mischievously. “Is there anything I should know from the start?”

“He likes chocolate and burgers and if you want any help from him with anything, just promise him a beer at the end of the day.”

“Good to know.”

“And we're leaving before Carlo shares more of my secrets than he should.” Steve laughed as Bucky shoved him out the door. “Bye, old man!”

Steve chuckled again and Bucky casually bumped their shoulders.

“Hey, now, shouldn't you be on _my_ side since I am your neighbour and all that jazz?”

“Yeah, but Carlo can provide me with some really good books so I'd rather take his side.”

“Great, betrayed by friends and family today. Do you want to leave the books in my truck while we grab something to eat?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Danny's food truck was about two streets away from where he'd parked his truck. It was easier to walk. Steve was a bit shy from what Bucky could tell. His black baseball cap was pulled low on his forehead, so much so that sometimes Bucky had trouble seeing his eyes. But dressed in those black jeans and blue Henley, Steve looked really great. It wasn't difficult to understand why some people gave him _the look_. Also, Steve spoke with his hands, gesturing as he talked, trying almost too hard not to pay attention to the surrounding area or the people paying attention to him.

When they reached the food truck, Bucky ordered the tacos and didn't let Steve pay. They grabbed some juice as well and went to occupy a bench in the nearby park. It was small, just a few clusters of trees, but enough to offer them some privacy and a chance to eat in peace.

“Wow, these are really great!” Steve moaned when he took his first bite. Seriously, Bucky really didn't need to hear that. That sound was almost taunting him and he had to take a sip of juice just to swallow his food.

“I'm glad you like it.” They ate in peace, savoring the food. Bucky sighed and looked up at the grey sky, patting his full belly. “Yes, this is life. Thank you, God, for tacos and food trucks.”

“And thank _you_ for the lunch. You shouldn't have.”

“Please, man, my pleasure. Consider this a _welcome to the neighbourhood_ lunch since I didn’t get to help you guys move.”

“Don't worry. We didn't have much anyway. It was mostly Sam's stuff.”

“I see. How long have you guys been together?” The question triggered a beautiful blush all over Steve's face, traveling down his neck and moving on to who knows where else. Bucky would love to have found out.

“Sam and I are just friends,” Steve mumbled, playing with his bottle of juice. “We've known each other for a few years. There were some issues where I used to work. I decided to move back to New York and he followed me here.” Steve drank his juice, looking far away. “Sam is straight,” he added. “I think for me the modern term would be bisexual.”

“Oh, thanks for telling me.” Bucky stamped promptly on the glitter of hope in his heart. “I think you might have already picked up on the fact that I'm as gay as one can be, from Luz's wonderful explanation.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Steve glanced back at him, wearing a soft look. “She really is great.”

“Yeah, she is. Isidora and Santos lucked out with her. I'm proud to be her godfather.”

“You're her godfather? That must be nice.”

“Yeah, Father O'Callaghan has no issues with us, gays. He does, however, take issue with me missing the Sunday mass. Frequently.”

“I don't think that I'm much of a believer nowadays.”

“What denomination are or were you?”

“I suppose I'm Catholic. But war kind of cured any romantic feelings I might have had about faith. Or war, for that matter.”

“Same here. I enlisted because, in an odd way, I thought it might honor my grandfather and his ideals.” Seeing Steve's questioning look, Bucky added, “My grandfather served in World War II in the 107th and if you know your history then you know the 107th was the Hollowing Commandos' unit. They served with Captain America. Anyway, let's just say that grandpappy didn't forgive me as easily as I thought for it. You see, he knew what war was really about and he saw some pretty heavy stuff. Being prisoner and then freed by Captain America. Everyone would have liked to tell that story, but not my grandpappy. So yeah, it took him a long time to adjust to my new life. He had no issues with me being gay, but being a soldier?” Bucky pinched his nose and his voice sounded far more gravely when he continued, “I think I broke his heart with that one.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve mumbled and squeezed Bucky's shoulder, who more grimaced than smiled back.

“I should be sorry. It's just that I still can't believe grandpappy is gone.”

“You were close.” It was more statement than question.

“Yeah.” Bucky took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. “He was one of those amazing people, whose approval made you move mountains. I was scared shitless when I told my grandparents I was gay. Grandma has always been a loving person so I honestly didn't think she was going to disown me, even if she might not have approved. But with grandpappy, well, let's just say he was a man's man, you know the one that everyone'd listen to, who'd started his life from scratch, who built up everything together with grandma. And when he heard, he just smiled, hugged me and said _I love you. Thank you for trusting me_. You see, it was all about trust with him.” Bucky's eyes closed in an earnest attempt to prevent himself from getting any sappier. “I miss the guy so much. I miss his easy acceptance. Did you ever have someone like that in your life, Steve?”

“I don't know.” Steve's blue eyes spoke of a bone-deep sadness, one that resonated with Bucky from the days when he'd first returned from Afghanistan. “My father died young and it'd always been me and ma. Then ma died too, and there weren't many relatives around so I had to get by my own. I think Sam's the only one that accepts me the way I am, no questions asked. He gives me his trust in a way few people ever have.”

“It's nice having someone like that, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“It seems like there aren't many people you can trust in your life.”

Steve shrugged, a little lost.

“In my case, mostly it's because as soon as I wanted to offer my trust to someone, something happened that kind of shook my belief in people. It got to the point where I couldn't speak with almost anyone besides Sam. But he managed to convince me to give people a shot again. Nowadays I consider my teammates my family.”

“I'm glad to hear that. I think I met one of them. Natasha?”

“Yes, Natasha. She's definitely one of my best friends.”

“Never been tempted for more?”

“Nah. She's an invaluable friend to me. And besides, she kind of has a thing with one of my other friends. I'm not sure of it, because both of them are kind of hard to read. And wow, you are one of hell of a conversationalist. I think I've talked to you more than I've talked in ages and you're virtually a stranger.”

“Well, now I'm not a stranger.” Bucky grinned at him and they both got up, throwing the remains of their late lunch in the trash. “We're friends now.”

“We are?” Bucky laughed out loud at Steve's hopeful tone and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, we are, buddy. I've decided you and I are going to be great friends.”

“Well, if you've decided that.”

“Steve, someone has to show you the cool places in Brooklyn.”

“And that person should be you?”

“Yes, my friend.”

“You do realise that I used to live in Brooklyn, right?”

“How the hell would I know that?” Bucky floundered but regained his confidence almost as fast as he'd lost it. “But you didn't know about this place, did you? Which means that you've forgotten most of the good things about dear old Brooklyn. So I'll be your guide from now on, Stevie. I'll be the Holmes to your Watson, the Edge to your Bono, the Hulk to your Stark.”

“The Hulk to your Stark?”

“I might not keep up with the Avengers' affairs or whatever they call themselves these days, but I do know that Dr. Banner is apparently good friends with Stark.”

“You don't seem to like the Avengers very much.” Steve's expression closed off.

“Oh, it's not that.” Bucky hooked his hands behind his neck as they walked back towards his truck. “It's just like with celebrities - you know they're out there, but your chances of meeting them are at impossible odds. And they seem so remote, all tucked up in that ugly building. I think it's Stark Tower?”

“Avengers Tower.”

“Yeah, right. Avengers Tower. How could I forget that?” Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve's face blanked out completely. Maybe he was a fan of the Avengers. Bucky never seemed to have much success with his disinterest in the Avengers. Even Becca scolded him on more than one occasion, saying he should at least be grateful for their existence. “Look, the point is I don't care much about them in general? During school, Captain America didn't really hold my interest, but out of all the Avengers, he at least had the most impact on history And you must have heard a million jokes about him since you share the moniker. Did your parents name you after him?”

“No. I think one of my grandfathers was named Stephen so dad named me Steve in his honor.”

“That's nice. Mine named me after grandpappy, too, and I think that worked out pretty well.” Reaching the truck, Bucky couldn't help but notice that Steve wasn't in such a good mood as he'd been before. “I'm sorry if I offended you,” he said quickly, trying to salvage the day.

“About?” Steve frowned a little, confused, and seriously, no one, no man over thirty, should look that cute when frowning.

“About what I just said. I know some people are ticked off by my indifference to the all-mighty superheroes that happen to live in New York. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't respect their contribution to our world's safety, it's just that -”

“Bucky, breathe!” Steve squeezed his shoulder. “You didn't say anything wrong. Actually, I really appreciate your honesty.”

“Well, if there's one thing that you'll get with me, it's always going to be annoying honesty at all times.” Bucky grinned. “Another thing I learned from grandpappy. Now, are you coming home or do you want me to drop you somewhere?”

“Home would be fine.”

“Then let's go.”

They spent most of the ride home, which wasn't long, in companionable silence, interrupted only by soft music from the radio. After parking the car, Bucky helped Steve take the books out and then brought them all the way to the door. Jack barked once, already sensing him.

“Thanks for today, Bucky,” Steve said with a smile. The smile didn't reach his eyes, that sadness a constant reminder that there was more to Steve than met the eye.

Bucky Barnes was an avid fan of mysteries and puzzles. Something fluttered deep within his soul, making him swallow once or twice before answering,

“No problem. I'm glad I spent some time with you. Now I have to go and take Jack out before he discovered that he can chew more than my sneakers.”

“He really likes chewing stuff, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, don't be surprised if one day he shows up in your living room, having chewed up a whole tunnel.”

“I'll try not to be.”

“That's good. Well then, have fun reading those and see you later, Stevie.” Bucky caught himself. “I meant Steve, sorry, didn't mean to -”

“Stevie is fine, Buck. See you later.” _Oh_. Double the trouble. The smile and a nickname. As he opened the door and let Jack give him a wet welcome, licking his face and expecting belly rubs, Bucky smiled goofy and was very happy no one was around to see him. Not only was Steve bisexual, but he was _not_ in a relationship with Sam. Therefore, technically, although Steve didn't exactly say that, he could assume Steve was single. And while the dark voice inside Bucky was still alive and well, reminding him he was far from being as put-together as Steve - not to mention what his body looked like under his clothes - Bucky could still savour the feeling of sitting next to Steve in the park, eating and chatting with him.

Bucky decided to take Jack for a quick walk before the rain pushed through the grey clouds. He kept on thinking about the sadness in Steve's eyes, almost as if it had been an intrinsic part of his own soul. Bucky knew a few things about how constant poking kept a wound from healing. But under the façade, Bucky sensed that Steve was definitely someone worth knowing. He wasn't just a pretty face. Bucky didn't actively look for dates, but he considered it was high time to meet someone. And date. While he was a fan of being alone, he really didn't want to be lonely. Lately, that feeling had crept inside of his heart with alarming frequency.

Jack chose to turn his head at exactly that moment. Damn, that dog always had a keen sense of judging Bucky. He just rolled his eyes.

Bucky found that his meeting with Steve had an unexpected bonus: he was inspired again. The next day, he went to work, ignored the cupboard's taunting, finished it, and started a new project. He smiled softly as his hands caressed the wood.

Sometimes he loved his life.

After work, still feeling energised, he decided dinner would be spaghetti with meatballs. His fridge was empty, so this meant shopping for ingredients. He blessed whatever entity was out there when he met Steve in the fruits and vegetable aisle, looking as lost as ever.

“Hey, Steve!” he exclaimed, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than the situation required. “What are you doing?”

“Other than shopping?” Steve smirked so Bucky laughed back.

“Okay, I guess I deserved that. But you look like you're about to break down here. Need any help?”

“Well, Sam gave me a list and asked me to do the shopping. And now apparently I have to choose a ripe mango? I know what a mango is, but how the hell will I know if it's ripe?”

“Wow, okay big guy, chill! Don't worry: Bucky Barnes will save you. Come on: give me the list and let's see where we can find those damn mangoes.”

“Thank you, Buck. I appreciate this.” Hearing Steve say again his name like that sent tiny shivers of pleasure down his spine. So maybe he _wasn't_ so cool about the whole situation.

“No problem, Steve.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse. He cleared his throat before carrying on, “What are your plans for dinner?”

“Well, Sam and I aren't great cooks, but we're going to throw something together.” Steve contemplated the pineapples in a lost kind of way. No, Bucky didn't find that cute. At all. No, no, no no.

“You guys could come have dinner with me.” And yes, ladies and gentlemen and non-binary people, Bucky's mouth did run off without his consent. Because while his mother taught him to cook ( _No, Bucky, no man should leave the parental nest without knowing how to cook and do their laundry._ Yes, his mother did use the word nest, which said a lot about his childhood traumas), he wasn't a very good one. But yeah, he dug this grave all by himself. Might as well step into it. “I'm making spaghetti with meatballs if you guys have nothing against eating meat.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, though in my defense, so you know what you're getting into, I'm not exactly the best cook in the world.”

“Please, you can't be worse than us, trust me on that. I'll talk to Sam, but I think he'd be happy to come. We should get dessert. My treat.”

“All right, Steve! Let's see what you're going to choose.”

So that was that: Bucky was going to cook for his neighbors and maybe lose his mind in the process. Because, yes, Bucky could tell you that this moment? This right here?

This was the exact moment when he started to lose his mind over Steve Rogers.

 

Chapter Three

_In which Bucky's obliviousness is funny, but also sometimes it isn't_

Bucky was nervous.

He'd tripped over Jack several times, making the poor dog whine, most likely sensing his master's nervous anticipation. It wasn't like Bucky was afraid of the impression he was going to make. His mom didn't raise a slob. _No, Bucky. Not knowing how to do laundry or cook for yourself isn't cute. It's obscene and poor manners. No son of mine will be found lacking,_ his mom kept saying.

For some reason, Bucky had really enjoyed the time they'd spent in the kitchen. His mom had always had the gift of coaxing people to talk, to spill the beans. Bucky had never been immune to her charm. In fact, it was during one of their stints in the kitchen that he inadvertently came out when he admitted that he'd kiss a certain actor, let him have his way with him.

Bucky didn't remember what actor they'd been talking about, but he remembered the dread and horror that had coursed through his veins. His mom's blue eyes had rounded up, her eyebrows almost touching her hairline. Bucky had begun to sob almost uncontrollably, afraid his world had ended, that his parents wouldn't accept him, that he'd have to find someplace to stay because there was no way he could face their disappointment. Then his mom had hugged him tight, full of love and smelling of spices.

It was how George had found them three hours later: still embracing, now laying on the floor, Bucky's red, puffy eyes filling with new terror, Winnie's full of courage and defiance. His father had listened to the confession, sitting crossed-legged in front of them. Fresh tears had sprung from Bucky's eyes and his father has hugged him just as hard as his mom had and that was that. When Becca came and found all three of them embracing on the kitchen floor, she'd just rolled her pretty eyes and joined them.

Never had Bucky felt as lucky as he had at that moment. Never again would he have the same feeling. But his parents were incredible, they'd raised him well, and he wasn't going to screw this up.

Happy knocks on the door jolted Bucky out of his reverie and he took three deep breaths before he went to answer it. The table was nicely set in the kitchen (eating in the presence of the TV or _any_ media device was another of his mom's pet peeves) and today, dressed in a red Henley and dark jeans, he actually resembled a well-adapted and functioning adult. As soon as he opened the door, Jack shoved through Bucky's legs, heading directly to Steve, and barked once.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Sam laughed. “Already picking the favorites.”

“I'm more charming than you'll ever be, Wilson,” Steve replied as he dropped to his knees and petted Jack. His traitorous dog licked Steve on his right cheek and then demanded to have his belly rubbed. Steve complied almost immediately. Bucky must have made a pretty stupid face because Sam raised a perfect eyebrow at him. Bucky shook his head and smiled.

“I don't know what to say about that, Steve.” Sam stepped inside the house. “I mean, I do have a lot of charm, if I do say so myself. Perhaps more so than you.”

“Guys, let's agree that both of you are charming and dreamy.” Bucky intervened before it escalated.

“Because I really want to eat. I'm fucking starving and you guys didn't help much.”

“What do you mean we didn't help much?” Steve stood up. “I bought the apple pie.”

“Yes, punk, _bought_ being the key word here. I _made_ spaghetti and meatballs from scratch. Beat that, Stevie!” Bucky's glee made Sam smile as he entered the living room while Steve just shook his head ruefully before following his friend.

“Thanks for that, you jerk.”

“You'd better get used to it, Rogers!”

“Jesus, man, did you do this?” Sam stopped, taking in the bookcase that dominated the entire wall like the secret and sturdy master of an entirely different world. Steve stopped next to Sam, obviously as astonished as his partner in crime.

“Yes, it was actually one of my first projects. I used to work with my grandpappy on it. After his death, it took me some time to finish it, but it's here now.” Bucky scratched the back of his head. “It's a bit different, and you can still spot some rough lines, but I'm proud of it.”

The bookcase was enormous, or it seemed so in the not-so-wide living room. It was made of buckeye, because his grandpappy had a strange sense of humour. The margins were carved to resemble tree branches, narrowing down towards the floor to become roots. The edges of the shelves had small carvings: some were miniature branches, others had small fairies, one even had a fairy door. The details were minute, giving the effect of a mystery box: the more you looked, the more beautifully carved details you discovered.

“Buck, this is really amazing!” Steve said firmly, watching Bucky as if seeing him in a new light. He ran his fingers along the edges of the bookcase.

“Honestly man, I am shit when it comes to art, because between Steve and me, Steve is the artist, but this is one amazing piece of furniture. If this is anything to go by, I'd say you're amazing and I hope you'll be rich one day.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Bucky felt his cheeks redden under the scrutiny but the pleasure of having his work admired was better than any embarrassment brought on by such an open praise. He'd never learned how to accept compliments and he probably never would. In an attempt to hide his feelings, Bucky came to stand by Steve, who kept gently touching the carvings. His weren't the hands of a working man, no blemishes on them, with thick, strong fingers and Bucky really wanted to touch them.

“You're so talented, Buck. This is really gorgeous.” The sincerity pouring from those piercing blue eyes made Bucky go a little weak in the knees. He cursed his traitorous heart, but seriously, there was something special about Steve, about the way he held himself at the moment as if he was making himself smaller, touching the carved figures with such delicacy, as if the entire bookcase was made of glass and would break rougher handling. Bucky was so astonished to see it, he had the urge to touch Steve's fingers, to convince himself the man was really there.

“Thank you, Steve. Sam said you're an artist too?”

“Oh no, I wouldn't call myself that.” Steve flushed again, that delicious shade of red that made his face a little splotchy and therefore all the more attractive in its cute imperfection. “I draw every once in a while. But it's no big deal. Not like you.”

“Come on, man don't be like that,” Sam argued. “Your drawings are incredible and your paintings...”

“You have paintings?” Bucky didn't know what to think anymore, his brain trying to catch up with the new information.

“Yes, but they aren't that great. I mean...” Steve shuffled and let his hand fall. He shrugged before finally looked at Bucky. “They can't be compared with what you do.”

“Of course not, because they're two completely different mediums. I wouldn’t ever presume to be an _expert_ at what I do, anyway.” Bucky mirrored Steve. “But I'd really like to see some of your drawings or paintings - if and only if you'd feel comfortable showing them to me.”

“I'll think about it.”

“That's all I'm asking. Now,” he clapped his hands, “welcome to my home. Mi casa es tu casa and all that jazz. Let's eat.”

“I thought you'd never say it.”

“Now, guys, please remember that just because I know how to cook, that doesn't mean my food is going to be amazing. This being said, I think I really outdid myself tonight.”

“So modest.” Sam grinned as he took a seat at the table. “Man, I'm not eating out of a carton for the first time this month so please accept my deepest gratitude for this dinner and I will eat it even if it's burnt or has too much salt.”

“You could eat anything.” Steve replied, still a little subdued as he sat down at the table, letting Bucky have the seat between them. Bucky hoped Steve's sudden aloofness wasn't caused by something he'd done. Maybe Steve was just surprised that Bucky had an artistic side to his craft. Or maybe he didn't imagine something like that at all. Jack whined and then settled down on the floor next to Bucky's left leg, the one injured in Afghanistan. Bucky had brought beers to the table before Sam and Steve had arrived and Sam immediately opened hi, then rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Look who's talking.” Sam apparently decided it was high time he served himself from food. He even moaned a little when he took the lid off the pot containing the meatballs in their tomatoes and basil sauce. “Seriously, Steve, if it were up to you, you'd only eat pepperoni pizza and the classic yet oh-so-boring burgers with fries.”

“I love fries,” Bucky interjected as he waited for Steve to help himself to the food, before finally starting to pile food on his own plate. “I remember once when I was in middle school, we went to camp. Apparently, we were the last series of that year and there was still plenty of food left. We were told to just say what we wanted to eat and the cooks would make sure to prepare it. I've never eaten so many fries as I did during that last week over there. And when I came back home, all I wanted was more fries.”

“You're a sick man, Barnes,” Sam said in mid-chew. “Haven't you heard of vegetables?”

“Technically the potato is a vegetable.” Bucky smirked as he took another scoop of spaghetti with much gusto.

“Technically yes. Nutritionally speaking, it's a starchy food.” Steve took a sip of his beer, before digging into his food again. “Although nutritionists seem to love debating whether they should accept potatoes as vegetables or not, whether they're healthy or not, because they're fat-free and do have most of the same minerals and vitamins as any other vegetable, but for some reason, it's seen as being dangerous to our health.” Both Bucky and Sam looked at Steve like he'd just grown another head. “What? I couldn't sleep one night and this seemed like a pretty interesting topic to me.”

“Oh man, I don't think you realize how sad that sounds.” Sam shook his head.

“Nah.” Bucky smiled. “I remember one time during my rougher days after coming back for good, I kept looking up information on Google and I think I wanted to ask something like _what do I do if_ and one of the suggestions was _what do I do if a ginger kid bites me_. I found it so confusing that I clicked on it and then I kept looking for weird searches on Google. Like apparently monkeys are made of chocolate and _how do I raise my IQ by eating gifted children_.” At the others' disbelief, Bucky chuckled. “I'm serious. They're all valid searches. Have a look, if you don't believe me.”

“For fuck's sake this world is too weird for me.” Sam helped himself to more food as Steve glanced in Bucky's direction with a small smile and a look promising more mysteries. Bucky was happy with that. “Okay, now that we've established that you're both sad and odd people, how about them Giants?”

They talked about baseball which turned into an odd competition between Bucky and Sam about the players' stats while Steve just shrugged his shoulders and refused to get involved. Then they moved to the living room to eat their apple pie, have more beers and trade funny stories (Bucky's disastrous encounter with a bottle of vodka in junior high versus Sam's broken hand when he jumped from a tree because he thought he could fly). Steve seemed to be unaffected by the alcohol, the same could not be said about Sam and Bucky, who kept snickering at each other about stupid things. At last, Steve had enough and called it a night.

“Thanks for the dinner, Bucky.” Steve squeezed his shoulder and whether it was the effect of the rather nice night they'd had or the alcohol, Bucky found himself leaning a little bit further into Steve's touch. Steve seemed torn between saying something else to Bucky and taking care of Sam, who'd suddenly discovered he was rather lazy and wanted to jump the railing that separated the staircases between the two brownstones. In the end, common sense prevailed and Steve stopped Sam before he committed an atrocity against all railings everywhere and inevitably against himself.

“See you later, Barnes!” Sam called back in a voice far too loud for the late hour. He even waved, which made Bucky chuckle.

“See you later, lightweight,” Bucky called back.

“See you around, Buck.” Steve's face was mostly hidden by the shadows of the night, but even its darkness couldn't hide his piercing blue eyes. Their darkness was completely different. Bucky shook his head, feeling dizzy. It might have been the alcohol, making him imagine things that weren't there.

“See you, Stevie,” he replied softly, let Jack bark once in goodbye, then closed the door. He leaned against the cool wood and took a deep breath. His fingers twitched. Steve was such a riveting puzzle. Bucky would love nothing more than to put each piece in its correct place, creating the absorbing image of who Steve genuinely was. But...

Bucky took another deep breath and then went to clean up in the kitchen. The problem with well-adjusted guys like Steve, ones still on active duty, was that their order never wanted to meet Bucky's chaos. He was made of tainted clothes with holes in them, large sweaters and even larger wife-beaters (and seriously, what kind of fucked up name was that for a piece of clothing?). Baggy sweats and faded jeans and leather jackets. He was made of nightmares and scars and Jack, who was a lovely mutt, and furniture and a small studio and second-hand books and very few friends. While he might seem like the perfect fix-him-up hero for a rom-com, real life was far more complicated. Real people were far more prejudiced.

As he washed the dishes, he kept thinking of all those hook-ups (he couldn't call them boyfriends – it would imply a level of commitment they'd lacked entirely) and how much they'd wanted in his pants and how few of them were still willing after they saw the scars.

His left shoulder, his back, part of his left hip and thigh, they were covered in burn scars and they weren't pretty. Maybe he was prejudiced himself when he thought about Steve. Steve and his perfect body, moving smooth and strong under his perfect wrinkle-free clothes. His always perfect hair, his perfect life and perfect teeth (seriously, Bucky's mind was weird). Not to mention his perfect friends.

In the shower, he reminded himself not to be such a jerk. Steve's eyes told a completely different story, one which Bucky would be more than willing to listen to. And he was an artist, drawing and painting. He'd barely met the guy; it wasn't like he was going to marry him. Bucky pushed his head under the spray: yeah, he was going to ignore that traitorous feeling of _want_ that coursed through his veins. Also the image of Steve drawing in Bucky's studio while Bucky carved or assembled a new bed or a cupboard. Nope, it was so wrong.

As he changed into some blue pyjama pants and a white t-shirt, and then climbed into bed, Jack already softly snoring next to him on the floor (a position that was definitely going to change during the night), Bucky decided the best course of action was to let things flow naturally. If he was going to see Steve more often, he was going to make an effort and really know the guy. If not, then so be it. He wasn't going to make things more complicated for himself. Now he was going to stop thinking about the man and just you know, dream of stuff. Or think. About other stuff.

Bucky stared at the ceiling, colored every now and then by the beam of the passing headlights. The ceiling stared back at him. Bucky turned his head and groaned in the pillow.

It was going to be a long night.

The following days, Bucky managed to keep a low profile with Isidora inviting him for dinner one night and the others involving him and Chinese food in front of TV, watching some Netflix. He managed to finish the commission he'd started at the beginning of the week, took Jack for fun walks in the park, and even managed to get a guy's phone number at a local café. Apparently, some people were really into caffeine deprived scowling men (that was Bucky) first thing in the morning. He wasn't planning on calling (granted, not cool on his part) but it had been a nice compliment for him.

So here he was on a Saturday afternoon, with no plans for that night and making a pitiful burrito out of his soft blankets while pretending to watch baseball re-runs when in reality he was trying to avoid Jack's accusatory looks.

“What?” he groaned unable to take the pressure anymore. “So I don't feel like going out tonight. So what? I'm not pitiful.” Jack tilted his head doubtfully like the asshole he was. Bucky was just about to reply when the landline rang. The sound startled both of them. Bucky groaned and ignored it. It stopped ringing and his answering machine kicked in.

“Bucky, it's me.” His mother singsonged, her voice coming out of the machine. “Answer your phone because I know you're home. No fruit of my loins can ignore me so -”

“What the hell, ma, are you trying to scar me?” Bucky snapped as he picked up.

“Well, it made you answer, didn't it?” She was gloating. Yeah, most likely wearing that little smirk on her face, the one that always said _I got you, Bucky Barnes, I got you good so just tell me the truth now_.

“I wasn't ignoring you,” Bucky mumbled. “I was just -”

“Bucky, I've known you since before you were born. You've never been able to lie to me so stop trying to do it now.” She hummed. “Most likely you're on your couch watching some baseball instead of going out with your friends. And I bet you've covered yourself with blankets. Am I right or am I right?”

“Fine, so you interrupted my pity party. What do you want?” The words were harsh, but they lacked any conviction.

“My mama senses were tingling so I thought I'd give you a call and see how you were. So how are you, my favorite child?”

“Now _I'm_ your favourite?” Bucky stalled. “What's Becca going to say?”

“Well, she's not here, so what she doesn't know can't hurt her.”

“Wow, you're such a great mom.”

“I'd say I'm the best one. For instance, I let my son ramble about nothing in the hope that sooner or later he'd tell me what's going on and what's bothering him this week.”

“This week?” Incredulity filled the entire line.

“Bucky, last week you ranted about the increase in the price of your favorite coffee.”

“It's good coffee but seriously, it was a fifty cents price hike,” he grumbled. “It's robbery, is what it is.”

“Honey, I think that rant involved a dead president, a conspiracy theory, and for some odd reasons, samba.” His mom added, “the previous week, you got upset with one lady in the park for scowling at Jack, a scowl you still can't prove without photographic evidence.”

“She was a breed snob, ma. She acted like Jack had to have the highest pedigree to play with her dog.” Upon hearing his name, Jack came nearer to the couch and licked him a few times, then settled right next to him.

“Bucky, just because she gave you a look, it doesn't mean she was a breed snob. On a side note, how come you complain about me using _fruit of my loins_ , but you can use _breed snob_? And make me say it too?”

“Ma!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” She shuffled around the kitchen and then seemed to finally sit down. “Tell me.” She wasn't ordering him, they were just two words spoken softly but they made Bucky reply in a much gentler way than he intended initially.

“It's just that I found out my new neighbours aren't together, they're just friends, and I met one of them a few times. The one that's bisexual. And he seems, you know, nice and everything. But he's just so well-adjusted and he's kind of gorgeous and I feel like I should mind my own business and try and ignore the guy.”

“What's his name?”

“Steve. And his friend's name is Sam.”

“Okay. So here's how I see it.” His mom spoke in a tender voice. “First of all, Bucky, you _are_ a well-adjusted adult. Well, as well-adjusted as any other adult in this fucked up world can be. Stop seeing your uniqueness as something to be ashamed of. And you're gorgeous, too: not because you're my son. You know how this never stopped me from being honest with you. You're a handsome young man. You just need to give yourself a chance.”

“Give myself a chance? What does that mean?” He could almost see her pinching her nose in an attempt to find the right words.

“I don't know how to explain this,” she admitted. “Since you came back from Afghanistan, you haven't been happy. You're functioning, at a far better level than I ever hoped, you're even content at times, but you're not happy, sweetheart. You dated a handful of men, I'm sure you slept with some, and I know that out of all of them, one or two wanted to fight for you, wanted to be with you warts and all, but you wouldn't let them. You built walls and you left them outside.”

Bucky scrunched his eyes closed thinking about Ethan. He was the closest to fit his mom's description. He was a builder, Bucky had met him through one of his friends. Ethan was funny and charming and had the kindest eyes. And he didn't care much about Bucky's scars. In fact he didn't seem to care at all, but Bucky wasn't convinced, was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop and when Ethan was offered a very good job in Boston, Bucky refused to move with him and they broke up. It had been painful and ugly, the emotional scars stopping them from staying friends. Not that he believed exes could really stay friends, even when the break up was clean.

“I know.” Bucky sighed and now he was pinching his nose. “I know what you're trying to say.”

“Good, because all I want is for you to be happy, kid. And you're not happy. Not even close.” His mom inhaled sharply. Her voices sounded wobbly. “Now, look what you've done: made me miss my son. A lot.”

“I miss you too, ma. So much.”

“That's it. I don't care how you do it, but you got to come here one of these weekends. I miss you terribly, kid, and I feel the need to pamper you and maybe play with your silly hair.”

“Ma! You literally just said I was handsome.”

“You are. It's just your hair is rather silly, honey. You take after your dad.”

“Interesting how when I do something good, I take after your side of the family, and when I do something stupid, I take after dad. Including the afore-mentioned hair.”

“Uuuuh, big words too! Maybe you should date a university professor! Or someone with a Ph.D.”

“Hahaha, ma, you're so funny.”

“Don't sass me, child. Or I'll make sure those photos from when you were seven resurface the next time you bring someone here to meet us.”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Oh, but I would.” She chuckled and Bucky followed suit. “Now make sure you have a look at your schedule and put a weekend down for us. Got it?”

“Yes, ma.”

“You'd better do it, Buchanan, or else!”

“Why would you say that? Are you trying to scar me for the rest of my life?”

“I know, it's weird, right?” Her smirk was almost audible. “But this is what is going to happen, _Buchanan_ , if you don't grace us with your presence soon enough.”

“Jesus, ma! Okay, okay, I promise I'll have a look and let you know.”

“Good. No more stalling!” She sighed. “Very well then. I'm sorry to have interrupted your moping-”

“I wasn't moping!”

“- but I have important matters to attend to. Like trying to take your father away from Betsy. I swear to God that man is testing my patience.”

“Still running?”

“Still running! But now he's got it in his head to buy another one and recondition it. As if I don't have enough garbage in that shed of his. Oh well! I married the man, now I have to face the music.”

“Wow, such tragedy in the making.”

“I know, I know. You take care now and let me know when you can come.”

“Will do. Love you, ma!”

“Love you too, Buchanan!” She cackled and then abruptly hung up. His mom was the most devious person when she wanted to be.

“I wasn't moping,” he grumbled at the phone in his hand and Jack's ears twitched at the sound but he chose to ignore the lie behind it. Maybe he was lying. A little. And as soon as he admitted that, the doorbell rang long enough to startle Jack, who went straight for the door, barking twice. It took a while longer for Bucky to get there because being a moping burrito involved a lot of blankets and disentangling himself from that mess was not easy. It involved some swearing and a stubbed toe.

The doorbell rang again and Bucky answered it crankier than usual.

“What, what?” And then he pursed his lips in a feeble attempt to keep his mouth shut. Steve was standing in front of the door looking sheepish and a little weary. Dressed in a baseball shirt and some blue jeans, with the usual baseball cap on, the man was emphasizing his shoulder to waist ratio and Bucky really didn't need that shit, not when he'd been thinking about this guy for the past few days.

“Sorry, pal.” He cleared his throat. “Not such a good day today. What's up?”

“No worries, Buck.” Steve's level of uncomfortable seemed to grow exponentially. “I- I mean Sam and I were wondering if you want to join us for some beers tonight. We were thinking of going to O'Grady's if you're up for it. And if you know where it is, because Sam's a bit confused about the address.”

“Yeah, man. I know where it is.” Bucky carded his fingers through his hair, most likely making it look even wilder. “It's just that I'm not in a good mood today. So maybe rain-cheque?” The disappointment was so visible on Steve's face that it took all Bucky's will-power not to hug the man. Or invite him in to join the moping burrito.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve replied and almost turned away from him. “Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you.” Goddamn it! Bucky couldn't do this.

“Steve, you know what?” As soon as the man focused back on him, Bucky continued, “I'll come. It's clear that I need a beer or ten and you guys are always good company.”

“Are you sure? Because we can reschedule for another time. No problem.”

“I said I'd go, Stevie!” Bucky rolled his eyes but smiled a little when Steve rewarded him with a beautiful shy smile.

“Okay then. Pick you up at eight?”

“See you guys at eight.” They nodded at each other, while Jack barked mournfully at Steve. Yeah, Bucky completely agreed.

A few hours later, Bucky found himself drinking his second beer squeezed between Steve and Sam at a small table inside O'Grady's. While Bucky wasn't one to go around passing judgment over the city's bars, he enjoyed the place. It was more than a hole in the wall, but less than a trend-setter. The bar had high ceilings, a dark wooden floor polished within an inch of its life, and small wooden tables, mostly round. The few booths, at the moment filled to the brim with people, were scattered around the bar with no apparent logic. The bartender was nice and always winked at Bucky for some reason, the waitresses knew their jobs and didn't take bullshit from anybody. In fact, one of the rules at O'Grady's was respectful behavior when towards the staff, a rule which was enthusiastically reinforced by the Morretti brothers.

The two brothers, only a year between them, were built like brick shit houses, with the meanest eyes Bucky had ever seen on a human being. Breaking a hand or a rib was a normal business day for them. Bucky had a healthy respect for their abilities and managed to grunt a greeting to them when they arrived. The Morretti brothers had slapped him on the back in acknowledgment (a gesture he still felt which had most likely left bruises) then made sure there was a table for the three of them. The brothers also had a healthy respect for veterans, which always came in handy.

So yeah, Bucky was drinking his second beer, almost plastered against Steve, who showed no sign of wanting to put some distance between them (which Bucky really appreciated), listening to Sam talk about his adventures with his wingman, Riley. All in all, it was far more pleasant than he'd expected. Steve's warmth mixed with Sam's jokes and the nice cold beer made Bucky pliant and relaxed. He was taken by surprise when he heard others trying to ruin their night out.

A few tables ahead of them, there was a group of young women. They had smiled in their direction once or twice, but generally had been having fun on their own and ignoring the advances of random morons, who didn’t seem inclined to accept the fact that they just came to have a drink and not make some conquests.

“You fat cow!” one of the morons yelled. “You think you can afford to say no to me?!” More than a few stares turned towards the commotion. The woman in question blushed so hard steam could easily have come off her. Her eyes suddenly liquid, she bit her bottom lip, and Bucky felt his heart break. No human being should be humiliated like that and he knew all too well how that type of humiliation could fill you up with deep self-hatred, thinking they must be right. That you were in the wrong. That there was something wrong with you and not them. Bucky was so deep in his thoughts it took him a few seconds to realize that Steve was no longer by his side. That he was staring the prick down.

“You and me! Outside. Now!” It was so abrupt it felt as if Steve had transformed. He was no longer the almost sad little puppy Bucky had met. This was a completely different version of him. Nothing shocked Bucky more than the pure anger boiling off of Steve's tense posture, than the way his shoulders were spread wide as a tightrope meant to intimidate his opponent, although the moron obviously still thought he had a chance to win this. The pure aggression radiating from Steve astonished Bucky.

Suddenly, he didn't think he liked this Steve so much.

Sam followed his friend immediately, trying to calm him down. “Come on, Steve! Let this go.”

“I can't. This man threatened this lady and someone needs to teach him a lesson about respect,” Steve growled in reply staring the moron down. Surrounded by two of his friends, he seemed pretty confident about winning a fight against Steve. Bucky wasn't so sure about it.

“Yeah, let's go outside, prick!” The stupid moron yelled. “I'll show you who's the man and then I'm coming back to this fat bitch and teach her some manners.” Steve's whole body recoiled ready to pack a fight-starting, and Bucky was sure fight-finishing, punch so of course, Bucky had to be an idiot and open his mouth.

“Well, alert the media, folks! Some women are more voluptuous than others. Actually, alert them about the fact that women come in all shapes and sizes, just like fucking men,” he said loudly and all attention was suddenly narrowed in on him, a zing on the unconsciousness of everyone present. He stood and felt his lips curve in a very cruel snarl, staring down the moron, no, the _fucking asshole,_ like he was a piece of dirt.

“This is the worst thing a person can be? Fat? Seriously? Not a cheater or liar or a fucking murderer? No, definitely not!” Bucky stepped in between Steve and the fucking asshole who was staring at Bucky like he was something far more dangerous than Steve. Even his friends were looking unsure, not knowing what to make of this new twist. This wasn't how things were supposed to work. People were supposed to throw punches, not words. “Oh, no. No, no! The worst thing a person can be is fat in your fucking opinion! Well, I'd suggest lurching back to the cave you crawled out of, taking a good hard look in the nearest stagnant pond, accepting whatever facts you don't like about yourself and stopping spreading your venom around you, you sack of shit. Because this lady's a hell of a lot better than you'll _ever_ be and she doesn't deserve to have her night ruined by a pitiful excuse for a human being like you.”

The applause and, admittedly drunken, cheers erupted and Bucky flinched. He looked around to see that most of the bar had listened to his words. The Morretti brothers were hauling the fucking asshole away, his friends trailing along behind, still looking like confused ducklings in a world gone strange. Bucky was sure Paulie Morretti, in particular, was going to have a few extra strong words with the bastard, because Paulie more than anyone else hated seeing women humiliated. Being raised by a father who instilled a deep respect for women in both of his sons, and having two daughters of his own, well, let's just say Bucky was sure that the fucking asshole was going to be in for a world of hurt. He gave the crowd a small salute, then glanced at the woman who was crying, one of her friends trying to calm her down. He leaned a little bit forward and when she reached for him in a gesture of gratitude, he took her hand straight away.

“Just for the record, I really think you are beautiful just the way you are. Fat should never be a derogatory word, just like gay, in my case. I'm really sorry your night was ruined and I hope you don't take his words at face-value. Because he was a fucking asshole and was completely full of shit.”

“Thank you,” she croaked and squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers back and smiled one more time before he let her go. Without even looking at Steve or Sam, he made his way out of the bar.

The cool air hit him like a wall of bricks. His thin v-neck didn't offer much protection against the cold but the anger simmering in Bucky was warming him up. He ran his fingers through his hair, pacing in front of the bar, ignored by most of the other people loitering in front of the bar. One of the guys smoking took a look at Bucky and silently offered him his pack of cigarettes. Bucky had quit smoking after his discharge but every once in a while he still craved a fix of nicotine and this was most definitely one of those times. He took one and the stranger offered him his lighter, after which he nodded once and looked away from Bucky.

The smoke filled his lungs like a dark old friend and he took pleasure in the nostalgic bitterness of it. He watched the smoke travel up in the air and disappear into nothing. His anger seemed to follow the path of the smoke and gradually dissipate.

“Bucky.” His name was like a prayer, like the gentle comfort God would offer to a dying animal, but the simple tone made him turn, made him want to move mountains and pledge allegiance to the goddamn man now standing in front of him, eyes masked by his ever-present baseball cap. Bucky didn't answer. He kept staring back at Steve who silently offered him the leather jacket he'd forgotten inside the bar. Bucky reached for it, holding the cigarette between his lips, and slid into it with a sigh of relief. The cold hadn't registered while he'd been in the red haze, but now he was warm.

“You're upset.” Steve acknowledged, making Bucky snort.

“You think so, Steve?” Bucky looked at his cigarette. It was almost finished and he craved another one almost immediately. The pleasant buzz he'd achieved had too short a lifespan. The stranger saw his predicament, gave him another cigarette, clapped Bucky on the shoulder as if to say _good luck_ and then entered the bar. The silence between Bucky and Steve was so deep, the noise from the bar seemed deafening for the few precious seconds the door was opened. As it swung closed, they were dropped back into the silence.

Bucky broke it. “What the fuck was that, Steve?”

“I was just trying to defend her.” Steve shuffled as if trying to find a comfortable position, but none seemed to work. He was so painfully awkward it wasn't funny. With his strong arms, the blue jacket he was wearing did little to disguise. With his stupid baseball cap whose shadows hid those piercing blue eyes. With his concealed sadness that made Bucky want to unravel him until he knew every perfect puzzle piece fit.

Yes, yes, yes. Despite everything, Bucky wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss the hell out of this man, mess him up so thoroughly that he wouldn't know where he began and Bucky finished.

He could make it so good.

“I don't think you were trying to defend her. I think you were itching for a fight and you found it,” Bucky said as he took a puff from his second cigarette, ignoring Steve's flinch. “If you miss fighting with someone, I can speak with the Morretti brothers. They love to beat people up. Or maybe you can quit your day job and start working here. After all, you know what they say about Irish bars, it shouldn't be hard to find some assholes willing to fight.”

“Come on, Bucky, that's not fair.”

“Neither was what you did back there.”

“I was taking her side! I was trying to protect her from that guy. I was doing the right thing.”

“You were trying to do the right thing,” Bucky corrected him. This time Steve tensed completely, his arms crossed over his chest as if challenging Bucky to continue. Which only made Bucky all the more belligerent. “I'm not saying what _I_ did was right, either. Far from it, but do you think that lady would have wanted to be the one who was the reason for a fight started? The reason people got injured? I know I wouldn't. She was _hurt_ by his words and no amount of fists and blood is going to fix the wound that asshole caused her tonight. I fucking hate violence, Steve. Don't we have enough people solving issues with their fists and their guns and their own brand of justice?”

“Are you talking about the Avengers?”

“I'm talking about the fucking Avengers, and Daredevil and Punisher and Spiderman and so many others. What would your fight have achieved? Nothing but make that guy meaner to the next person weaker than him and make that lady seriously convinced all men are pricks. Who knows? Maybe she already is!”

The silence pricked at his skin. He hated that he couldn't see Steve's eyes but he'd vented his frustration and that was that. He finished his cigarette as Steve continued to stand, arms folded, his whole body a challenge.

“Look, all I am saying is I had my share of violence, not only from the war, but from my daily life. I try to avoid it as much as possible. And I really don't like the thought of you demanding a fistfight every time you meet an asshole. Because newsflash, Stevie: the world is full of assholes!” Bucky stubbed out the dying cigarette and when looked up, he saw a different Steve, less belligerent, his deflated posture a clear sign he was coming down from whatever mood adrenaline had pushed him into.

“I think I should go home,” Bucky said, bitterness tainting his words.

“No, Buck, please,” Steve replied quickly, his head hanging a little, like a child who'd been reprimanded. “I apologize for this. You shouldn't let me ruin your night. I can go and-”

“Steve, no, it's really all right.” Bucky shrugged. “I wasn't in a good mood anyway. I shouldn't have come in the first place.”

“Then I'll come with you. Let me just tell Sam.” Steve disappeared back into the bar so fast Bucky barely had time to realize it or to remember that most likely he would owe some money to Sam for his beers. Five minutes later, Steve was back out, smiled a little shy and chastised and seriously, _seriously_ how could a man move him so? Especially one he'd been so mad at only minutes ago.

As they began the long walk home, he wondered whether he should mention the earlier incident, maybe apologize for being harsher than necessary. Maybe some other time. For now, he just bumped their shoulders together and when Steve focused on him, Bucky smirked.

“So Stevie, what is it with this goddamn baseball cap all the time, eh?”

 

Chapter Four

_In which Bucky's obliviousness reaches a whole new level_

 

For now, he just bumped their shoulders together and when Steve focused on him, Bucky smirked.

“So Stevie, what is it with this goddamn baseball cap all the time, eh?”

This innocent question triggered a new U-turn of the night. Steve's face closed off completely. Seriously, Bucky might begin to live in a constantly confused emotional state after tonight. It was generally admitted by everyone that Bucky was a terrifying mix of nightmares, old wounds and bad memories and some questions could trigger apparently exaggerated emotional responses to the unaware eye.

On the other hand, Bucky had known for a very long time that what had happened to him in Afghanistan would have direct repercussions over his life forever, and that the resulting inner turmoil would drown him in a pit of despair every once in a while (read _whenever the memories of that goddamn place came back like the unfriendliest ghosts of Christmas pas_ t). But with Steve, there was something else entirely.

He took in Steve's posture, so different from how he presented himself to the world. Conventionally, Steve could be considered a well-built man: unyielding, almost colossal in his mere presence. Yet Bucky's innocent question managed to suck out the spirit that embodied him, as if reminding him that he needed to look smaller, less threatening, making him hunch his shoulders to such an extent it made Bucky wince. Steve at that moment very much resembled a haunted man, one haunted not by his peers, but by his insecurities and fears. Obsessed by the very losses of an untold past.

Bucky sighed and looked back at the world around them. It wasn't quiet, despite the late hour and despite it being a family kind of neighbourhood. People around them smiled, talked, laughed and yelled, a cacophony of sounds surrounding them. He glanced back at Steve who was a drop of silence in that sea of sounds, the drop that secretly carried far more pain and despair than the others and Bucky _wanted._ He wanted so much to break those walls with which Steve sometimes surrounded himself. Oh, how he _wanted_. But some walls were unbreakable (he knew a thing or two about that) and some hid secrets far worse than expected (he was afraid this might be the case with Steve).

Just as he was about to offer one platitude or another and call it a night, Steve mumbled, “I'm afraid of being recognized.”

Two things struck Bucky at once: one was the fact that the statement was absolutely honest and true, and two was that Steve had used the word 'afraid' in his explanation, and there was utter fear when he admitted that.

“Who would recognize you?” Bucky prodded after a while. “Work-related people?”

“Yes.”

“Are you afraid they might recognise you and come after you?”

“No, I'm afraid they might come after the people I care about.” And as he said these words, Steve glanced straight into Bucky's eyes, suddenly fierce and possessive, like a dragon with its treasure. Bucky's heart skipped a beat. So unfair to have such a wholesome guy be so sincere with him when Bucky had done nothing but be rude and scold him all night. Because Steve's blue eyes held nothing but honesty, a kind of steadfast truthfulness that Bucky had never met before pouring from every pore of the guy. Because Steve was standing tall again, no more hunching. Because apparently for him, Bucky was worth protecting.

Bucky was hit by a sudden wave of affection for the guy and he grasped his shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“Steve, please never change.” Such light came out of this man. Such kindness and pain. Bucky just closed his eyes when Steve sneaked his arms around Bucky's shoulders, pulling him against him and holding on for his dear life, sighing contentedly. In the middle of the sidewalk. Oh, who was he kidding? Bucky welcomed the hug and slipped his arms around Steve's hips, before hiding his face in the man's shoulder. And if they fit absolutely perfectly, well, the people that passed by weren't going to mention it, and Bucky was going to make a hell of a job of lying to himself and say he didn't notice. It took a while to end the hug, and it was mostly due to the catcalls that they were beginning to receive. They spent the rest of their journey walking in companionable silence.

“Buck, I think we should exchange numbers,” Steve said when they reached home. He was an adorable shade of red and Bucky's heart surged again. Yes, this night had been a roller-coaster but right now he was pretty content with its outcome.

“Sure, pal.” And because Bucky could be a nasty human being with shit sense of humour, granted one, who'd been forced to suffer through his mom's endless detailing of Avengers' many virtues, including Captain America's impressive physique, and there was no denying that Steve was impressive, he registered Steve's phone number as Captain Steve. Yes, Bucky had issues. No, he didn't want to deal with them. They weren't part of this story anyway. (Okay, so maybe they were, but Bucky had developed an utter disgust for talking about his personal issues, of which they were many, so don't get surprised if he would push past them quickly). He didn't know whether Steve was truly a captain or not, but in his mind the association between him and Captain America was utterly hilarious.

Also Bucky might not have been so good at keeping the mischievous smile off his face because when he looked back up, Steve was staring at him partly amused, partly confused. Luckily for him, Steve was nice enough not to say anything. They said goodnight and entered their respective houses, Bucky being welcomed by barks, a few licks, and the persistent demand to take Jack out. Bucky strongly believed that Jack was actually the master by the way he carried on. He huffed and puffed, but took his dog out.

It also gave him a bit of time to clear his head. The night had been a bit of a hurricane in his carefully constructed life and though Bucky had always described his life as a total chaos, it didn't mean he was happy to be thrown out, without notice, in a whirlwind of emotions. Steve had the power to do that. After only a few encounters. He swallowed hard. He shouldn't joke when he thought his heart wasn't going to take such a roller-coaster of emotions. It left him feeling like he was dangling from a tight-rope electrified by sudden bursts of emotions that left it impossible to hang on.

What if he fell?

Who was going to catch him?

Not surprisingly, the temptation to fall was massive. What if _Steve_ would be there to catch him? _What if_?

There was a certain righteous anger burning through Steve, one that made it seem as if he looked for a fight. Maybe he did, and maybe he didn't, but it was clear to Bucky that had the moron dared to raise a hand, it would have ended badly for him. Blood and gore though... Steve didn't appear to be the violent type. But then no one did at first glance.

And the incident had left Bucky reeling.

When he was honorably discharged, with a medal and half his body burned, leaving in its wake a map of scars and a heavy weight of nightmares, Bucky had sworn he'd avoid violence at all costs. While action movies were acceptable, their degree of violence tolerable, he refused to go beyond that. He didn't watch the news, he didn't read the news, and he couldn't care less about the new bad guy attacking a new city. He couldn't care less about superheroes or supervillains.

It seemed selfish at times and Bucky had a hard time coping with the guilt. His therapist had called it a normal reaction. To Bucky, it sometimes seemed like cowardice. But that had been his choice and his method of coping. In Afghanistan, he'd seen the worst in men and he wasn't about to relive the experience. And while he didn't avoid confrontational situations, he preferred to use his sharp tongue to diffuse the situation rather than make it worse. His strategy had been working so far with very few incidents to report. It surprised Bucky that despite living in one of the most violent cities in the world (seriously, what was with super-villains and New York?), it rarely impacted on his life. He was lucky. For that, he was grateful, because sometimes it was hard to keep the soldier in him at bay.

Inside the bar, everything about Steve showed a man that was familiar with violence and, while he wouldn't encourage it or crave it, he wouldn't avoid it. Perhaps it was because he was still on active duty, most likely working for one of the alphabet agencies, or who knew, maybe even SHIELD itself. Perhaps because that self-righteousness came with a sense of despondency. Trying to do the right thing wasn't a guarantee of success. But the positive side of this whole shit show was that it was proof of Steve's imperfections. And boy was Bucky glad about that. Also, they really needed to have a discussion about his t-shirts. Seriously, what was with those damn tight t-shirts and Henleys? Didn't Steve know his actual size? Did he like being ogled at? Because Bucky could gladly complete this mission. Enthusiastically even.

Jack scratched Bucky on his jeans-clad leg in an attempt to drag Bucky's attention to the fact that he'd been staring into space for the past ten minutes. His dog almost rolled his eyes at Bucky. Then, he could do nothing but hang his head in shame and bring them both inside the house. Steve and his goddamn tight t-shirts. The man should be damned for his muscles. And his body. Well, his everything. Seriously, Bucky was so doomed it wasn't even funny anymore.

CAPTAIN STEVE: _I was called in for a mission. I'll be out of touch, but I'll talk to you soon, Buck._

The text came a few days later, while Bucky was standing in the frozen foods aisle deciding what to buy. For some reason it made his heart beat a bit faster (no, he was a man, he was not going to analyze every change of heart rhythm. He _wasn't_.)

BUCKY: _Stay safe, Stevie._

He stared at the cell in his hands for another five minutes, but no answer came and he ignored it afterwards. He ignored it as he paid for his groceries and he ignored it as he stared for five minutes at the TV behind the cashier showing a giant lizard chewing on the Golden Gate Bridge. At last, some evil creature wanted to attack cities other than New York. Take that, San Francisco! He ignored the phone as he prepared his dinner and as he took Jack out for a walk.

He wasn't going to analyse it. He wasn't.

“So, Steve sent me a text telling me he was going on a mission. What does that mean?” He asked off-handedly as Isidora finally took a break from complaining about Luz's teacher, who wasn't involved enough.

“Oh, you exchanged phone numbers now, eh?” Bucky adjusted his cell a little better in between his cheek and shoulder as he cleaned his tools.

“Yeah. I distinctly remember telling you about it, Isidora. It only happened last Saturday.”

“Oh, yes, when you played the hero, and then he hugged you, and then he gave you his phone number. _That_ Saturday?” Her smirk was so big it was almost visible through the phone.

“Yeah, that Saturday! Why are you being so obtuse?”

“Seriously?!” She rolled her pretty eyes at him, he was certain of it. “Ay, mi vida, your stupid question deserved a stupid reaction. What do _you_ think his text means? He just wanted to let you know about his whereabouts, which means he cares enough to keep you in the loop. It also means that he is most definitely not indifferent to your charms. Come on, Bucky! You're not the high school boy that used to drool all over Blake Matthews' letterman jacket.”

“He looked hot in it. How many times do I have to say it?” He huffed and stopped cleaning his tools before he hurt himself. Paused. “Wait. You think he's interested in me?”

“Dios, dame paciencia con los chicos estúpidos, porque ya no puedo aguantar más,” Isidora grumbled and while Bucky wasn't exactly a scholar when it came to Spanish, he understood quite a lot of it. Well, the essence anyway.

“I'm not stupid.”

“Okay, you're not,” she acknowledged after blowing a big sigh. “But you always sell yourself short. You never think that some people might be interested in you just the way you are, Bucky. Steve asked you out to the bar and while it seemed like a friendly request, he spent all night plastered to you, followed you home, listened to you being a ninety-five-year-old grandpa, and then he asked you to exchange phone numbers. No one is _that_ decent, Bucky, unless he was genuinely interested in your opinion about him. And I've seen the way he looked at you.”

“What? You've met him like for one minute.”

“Exactly, and even I could see that he was so checking you out. And he didn't find you lacking.”

“Now you're scaring me.”

“You should be scared. When was the last time you had someone by your side? If you think Steve's worth it, take a chance, Bucky. Bring out the Barnes charm, dust off your Brooklyn accent, and just you know, stare at him with those baby blue eyes. I'm sure Steve will fall to his knees quicker than Blake Matthews.”

“Oh my God, I can't believe you just said that!”

“Well, someone has to.” Isidora snorted. “So did you reply to his text?”

“Yes, I told him to stay safe.”

“That's good. Now, don't embarrass me, chico. Make a move next time or so help me God, I will call Mrs. Barnes and we will both gang up on you so hard, you won't know what hit you.”

“I hate you so much right now.” Bucky scowled at nothing.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, you big baby. Now go and finish cleaning your tools and you'd better show up for dinner tomorrow because Luz wants to see you and she's worse than a Tasmanian devil when she wants something.”

“Does Santos know what you call his daughter?”

“Try to betray me, pretty boy, and Santos might find out what happened in the summer of 2004.”

“Why did I stay friends with you?!” Bucky whined. “And for that matter, why is everyone so fast to blackmail me?”

“Because it's too easy, and because you've done some pretty embarrassing stuff. I have to go now, but please don't forget. Tomorrow at seven. Wear something with no holes in it.”

“How dare you?!” Bucky mock-gasped. “Holes and tears in the fabric are back in fashion, Isidora. Stay in touch with the fashion, girl. Can I bring Jack, too?”

“Yeah, bring him. He has better manners than you have anyway. See you tomorrow.”

“See you-” She hung up to him before he even finished the line. He scowled again at his cell. Summer of 2004. Bucky smiled wistfully. He'd been stupid but it still was one of the best summers of his life.

The following evening, he and Jack were locking the door on their way to the Rodriguez house when Steve got out of a black SUV, so shady that it literally made Bucky laugh. Yeah, Steve most likely worked for SHIELD or what was left of it. Or maybe NSA. Definitely a possibility. The man himself appeared tired, his hunched shoulders carrying the metaphorical weight of the world. Or maybe not so metaphorical. His ever-present baseball cap couldn't hide the fading bruise around his left eye. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a shirt with a dark windbreaker and carried a small duffel bag, a clear sign that he'd been gone for a few days and hadn't lied to Bucky, not that he'd expected that. But it was that air of despondency that made Steve appear smaller and fragile and Bucky couldn't help himself.

He made a distressed sound and before he even realized what he was doing, he approached Steve and cupped his wounded cheek in his hand. The blond man sighed in sheer relief and closed his eyes as he tilted his head just so, head fully resting in Bucky's hand. Bucky took another step to bring him closer to Steve, his thumb gently touching the fading bruise.

“This is not staying safe, Steve,” Bucky grumbled and Jack whined at their feet, most likely sensing their distress. It hurt Bucky to see Steve so physically and emotionally drained.

“But I came back to you, Buck.” The words hit like a wall of bricks, their effect doubling the moment Steve opened his eyes and their piercing blue light reflected into Bucky's own. His breath stuttered. Steve let the duffel fall to the ground and both arms wrapped around Bucky before welcoming him against his chest and hiding his face in the crook of his shoulder. Bucky reacted almost instinctively, and he returned the hug as Steve held on to him like a rock during the storm.

“Welcome back, Steve,” Bucky whispered softly as he hung on.

“It's good to be back, Bucky.” No, Bucky didn't shiver as Steve's lips moved against his skin. (Okay, maybe a little, because no human being could remain indifferent to this specimen of a man. Don't even pretend you would have.) They clung to each other for what felt like ages and it actually took a lot of willpower for Bucky to hold in the distressed sound when Steve let him go and squared his shoulders. Bucky wasn't sure he succeeded since Steve squeezed his shoulder in support.

“You look like you need a Sean Bean marathon, my friend,” Bucky blurted out.

“Who's Sean Bean?”

“Who's Sean Bean?! What is this blasphemy? How can you not know one of the greatest actors of our times? The amount of times this man had died in his movies has become legendary. Admittedly, he's also hot, but who's counting?” Steve's blank face fuelled Bucky's passion. “Come on, Rogers: Boromir in _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy? Lieutenant Sharpe? Lord Richard Fenton? Vronsky from _Anna Karenina_?”

“I read that book.”

“Pal, that's it. You can't possibly think I'm going to let you off the hook now. You need to be treated to a special English type of charm. Tomorrow afternoon, I shall await you in my humble abode for pizza, beer, and the dashing Mr. Sean Bean. And you'd better show up, Rogers.”

“I will, Bucky. If only to see if you're right.”

“I _am_ right, goddamn it.” Steve's smirk didn't fool Bucky. “Now, go, take a shower and go to bed. Rest and be prepared for the greatest discovery of your life, my friend.”

“Okay, Bucky.” Steve's soft smile touched something deep inside Bucky. The blond guy seemed almost surprised by Bucky's friendliness, by his genuine interest. “Around what time?”

“Six-ish? That gives me plenty of time to finish at the studio and have time for a shower. I'll wait for you to order pizza so that you get all the toppings you want on yours.”

“Toppings are what we put on top of them, right?”

“Yeah, pal.” Bucky smiled ruefully. “See you tomorrow. Steve. I need to go now before Isidora thinks I'm bailing out on her. Trust me, it wouldn't look pretty if this woman came after me.”

“I bet. See you tomorrow, Buck.”

Bucky looked at Steve as the other man closed the door behind him, sensing Jack's paw on his foot before actually glancing at it. His dog was judging him so hard right now.

“What? You like him too.” Bucky rolled his eyes, then let his dog get into the truck before following suit and driving to the Rodriguez house in a much more chipper mood than one would have expected from him. Isidora noticed Bucky's good humour in no time, but didn't mention anything and let Santos and Bucky discuss about wood (yes, it was a sad fact of life that they were literally talking about wood), while filling their bellies with delicious enchilada served with rice and beans, and a cold beer to drown the food. By the end of dinner, Bucky had the distinct feeling that someone had to roll him at home as he'd eaten too much.

“Bucky-bear, story time!” Luz shouted from upstairs and he groaned as he got up from the couch, followed out of the room by Santos' commiserating chuckles. God, he loved his god-daughter but sometimes he just wanted to chill. Jack hadn't even bothered to look at him as he too had been filled up with delicious food. Luz was waiting for him with a fairy-tales book and he had to read two of them before she was finally asleep. By the time he went home, he'd almost forgotten about his possible date night. Hahaha, what? Where did that come from? It was going to be a men's night as they were going to admire Sean Bean's roguish looks and eat their weight in pizza. That was all. Really.

However, things didn't work out as planned. By noon, it was clear that Bucky couldn't concentrate on his new commission, though it was rather a fairly simple one (a chest to keep old memories, no larger than a moving box) and he decided to call it a day and head back home early, forgetting about the rest of his paperwork. He was in no mood to fill in forms and watch as certain bills drained his bank account.

Arriving home, he took Jack for a walk in the park and then managed to clean his house fairly well. He looked critically at his living room. Apart from the massive bookcase that dominated the entire room, there was only a pretty comfortable couch and the TV set, the games console and a few shelves showcasing Bucky's family pictures. The couch was a nice shade of brown, comfortable, too, because Bucky had been a romantic at heart when he bought it, thinking that someday he might have someone to share it with and two men should be as comfortable as possible. His mother had bought him some lovely pillows and two super soft blankets (yes, the same ones that Bucky loved to use to make the moping burrito). A smooth coffee table sat in front of the TV with a small shelf underneath, full to the brim with furniture magazines, and one or two of Jack's chew toys, which always sat useless as his dog still preferred his sneakers. The large window let the afternoon sun shine brightly and Bucky smiled. If he endured all that suffering in the wake of his third tour in Afghanistan for all this, then it was worth it.

The doorbell rang and Bucky's smile intensified as he opened the door to an equally smiling Steve. For once the man was dressed in some sweat pants and a blue t-shirt that actually fit. Also, the absence of his baseball hat was duly noted and Bucky's heart constricted with the fact that Steve felt comfortable enough not to bring it, even if they were such close neighbors. Bucky knew a thing or two about silly things, which he'd firmly believed had kept him safe, not only while in Afghanistan, during operations, but also when he'd returned home. So there was no judging on his part.

Jack interrupted his reverie by barking happily at Steve and demanding to be petted immediately. Steve laughed, carefree, and bent down to scratch Jack between his ears.

“Hey, pal. Long time no see,” Steve said and entered the house as Jack realized that by letting Steve sit on the couch, he could demand all the petting in the world, which he did with a pitiful whine that made even Bucky's heart melt. Although he was mostly immune to this sort of emotional blackmail from his dog.

“So Steve, are you ready for our night of debauchery?”

“Yes, Bucky, though I'd hardly call it that.”

“Puh-lease, by the end of this night, you will bow to my awesome skills as a friend and become a Sean Bean worshipper.

“You're kind of scaring me.” Steve made a gesture to get up. “Should I leave you alone with your Sean Bean and your pizza?”

“How dare you?!” Bucky growled and pushed him back down to the couch as Steve chuckled. “We'll see what you say after a couple of movies with him. In the meantime, tell me what you want on your pizza. I need to order them.”

“Pepperoni and mushrooms.”

“Hmm, a man after my own heart, but I think I'll want that and add some olives and some pepper.” Bucky pulled out his cell. “Do you want some garlic bread too?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Steve looked up from Jack and his dog most definitely didn't appreciate the gesture.

“Perfect. Thanks to Sean, it will be a night of firsts. Pun fully intended.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a hilarious way.

“Seriously, Bucky? How long have you been waiting to use that line?” Steve huffed.

“Rogers, no mocking of your only friend, who will introduce you to awesome men to be enjoyed alongside awesome food.” As Bucky dialed his favorite pizza place, Steve rolled his eyes.

While they waited for the pizza, Bucky started on _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , which quickly gained their attention. Steve seemed to be engrossed by it and Bucky gave himself a pat on the back for his idea. No matter how many times he watched the movie and in spite of lacking some of his favorite scenes from the book, Bucky still watched it in wonder. It wasn't just for Sean Bean. It was for the characters and how the perfect casting was perfect. All in all, it was a good movie and Steve appeared to enjoy it since he didn't even hear when the pizza delivery guy rang the doorbell. The smell of the pizza made both their stomachs growl, so they paused the movie in order to eat and enjoy their garlic bread. The cold beers were the perfect addition. After stuffing their faces, they restarted the movie, making themselves much more comfortable by each occupying a side of the couch.

By the third movie of the trilogy ( _You have to watch the extended versions of it, Steve, otherwise you won't fully appreciate them_ ), they were both lying down on the couch, each covered in a blanket and Steve snoring softly on his side of the couch, his feet almost touching Bucky's chest. Aragorn was trying to convince the ghost king to join him in his fight for Gondor and all Bucky could see was Steve's relaxed face in the dim light of the TV.

As he continued to watch the man in front of him instead of the movie, Bucky realized it was the first time that he'd ever seen Steve so relaxed. Up to that point, possibly because they'd always met in public, Steve's shoulders had always been slightly tensed, never fully relaxed, never letting his guard down. The bruising around his eye had all but disappeared leaving a very young looking Steve in its wake, leaving him looking paradoxically more fragile. Maybe he was reading too much into it, or maybe he wasn't, but as Bucky pulled his blanket a bit higher, he couldn't help but think that he'd love to go to sleep every night like this, with Steve's face the last thing he saw as sleep would conquer him, with the heat of his body sipping even through the layers of two blankets, enveloping Bucky like an invisible shield.

Bucky moaned softly and closed his eyes as he was finally lulled to sleep by Steve's soft snores accompanied by Jack's from somewhere around the couch. Bucky was too lazy to look for him. Having his best guys around him made him feel safe. He ignored the stutter of his heart and let himself fall asleep with the sounds of an epic battle in the background.

“Nat, this is reaching a new level of low, even for us! Let's just go!” The voice was adamant, a frustrated whisper replying straight away, too soft for Bucky to hear, but the voice continued a bit harsher. “No, if he catches us here, he'll get mad! Let's just-”

“What the actual fuck?!” Bucky yelled and jumped off the couch in two seconds flat. Natasha was inspecting his living room and Sam was seemingly trying to pull her out of the house. His yell woke Steve, who immediately narrowed his eyes. Bucky couldn't even enjoy the funny way Steve's hair was tousled. All the pleasant glow froze inside of the room.

The red-haired woman was less than apologetic when she answered,

“Steve didn't come home last night and we came to investigate.”

“Oh, no, you don't, Nat! Keep me out of this!” Sam exclaimed as he crossed his arms. “I wanted nothing to do with this.”

“Fine. _I_ was worried and _I_ came to investigate.”

“Nat, that wasn't necessary.” Steve scowled at his two weird friends and Bucky had all the respect in the world for him, because his military training was screaming at him right now to take Natasha as a serious threat. The woman looked more than capable of easily breaking each bone in his body and then playing Jenga with them. Then again, nobody ever described Bucky as a well-thought man, who was driven by the wisdom of his years. Because Bucky Barnes had never run from a confrontation in his entire life and he was not about to start now. Especially in his own goddamn house.

“I sent you a bunch of texts and even called you once and you didn't pick up. So I was concerned,” she answered, her stance now a little bit defensive, but her frozen eyes continued to examine Bucky as if he wasn't important in the equation. Which no. No way, Jose.

“So you decided to treat him like he was a teenager that needed policing?” Bucky asked, his anger washing over everyone present in the room, making Sam flinch.

“Look, Barnes,” she answered coolly, “you don't know the whole story here so-”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” he shouted and then pushed back Steve, who made a valiant attempt at waking up and getting out of Bucky's house. Which no, Bucky wasn't going to allow. “You sit back down! No one's ever gonna treat you like you're a fifteen-year-old missing your curfew. Not in my goddamn house. Look, lady, I don't care who you are, I really don't care what you thought or didn't think. This is no reason to treat Steve here like he doesn't have a mind of his own and break into in my house. So you need to get the fuck out right now.”

“Make me.” Natasha replied and this time her arms came to rest on her hips as if ready for a personal attack. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with Steve and Steve's friends if every one of them was expecting Bucky to retaliate with violence?

“Don't tempt me,” he said flatly. His nickname in the army had been Winter Soldier because when in combat, he cut off the part of him that _felt_. He had people to worry about, to ensure they were taken care off and kept as safe as possible. Emotions were a danger for these missions and he had chosen to ignore them. It was hard to recover afterwards. Hard to come back. Right now, facing the red-headed woman, it was the Winter Soldier and a chill passed over everyone present in the room. Steve was staring at him, mouth slightly agape, while his adversary kept her cool air of determination.

“I think we've outstayed our welcome here,” Sam said, trying to placate everyone in the room. “Nat, how about we let Steve and Bucky have breakfast and we'll have a talk with Steve about appropriate warnings and answering phone calls?”

Natasha kept staring at Bucky as if she was calculating different ways in which she could murder him. He was sure she was being extremely creative right now. Bucky was sure he'd have died eventually in this fantastic battle of theirs, but he'd have put up a hell of a fight and made her life miserable before finally giving in. He wasn't sure whether she could read that on his face, or whatever his posturing fucking meant, but finally she minutely relaxed and let Sam guide her into the hallway followed by a very cautious Bucky.

“And who the fuck are you?!” Bucky yelped because sitting cross-legged in the hallway and playing with Jack was a sandy-haired man, dressed in a white t-shirt, with Captain America's logo right in the middle of it and some blue sweats. Jack didn't even bother to look at his master and the fucking intruders. “Hey! I'm talking to you!”

“His name's Clint,” Sam answered quickly as Natasha was undoubtedly prepared to add a scathing remark to the conversation. “He can't hear right now. He forgot his hearing aids at my place.”

“Fine. _He_ can stay,” Bucky grumbled because he trusted Jack's judgment when it came to people. If his dog was willing to stay with Clint and let him pet him so much, then he was a good man and who was Bucky to fault him that he had such horrible friends? “You two can leave though. Now.”

Sam made another placating gesture as he opened the door and held it for Natasha. The woman seemed hesitant to leave, but all Bucky's patience had run out and he slammed the door in their faces. That would teach them a fucking lesson. This was not some over-protective cute gesture. This was full on controlling and he fucking hated that.

He sighed heavily and carded his fingers through his hair as Clint finally looked around with an air of confusion and stared back at Bucky.

“Where the hell has everyone gone?”

 _I threw them out. You can join Steve and me for breakfast. I'm making bacon and scrambled eggs._ Bucky signed and if his unexpected guest was stunned that Bucky knew sign language, he didn't show it.

 _Sweet_. The scruffy looking guy pulled himself up and shook Bucky's hand. “I'm Clint by the way,” he said. Hmm, firm handshake, maybe a little tighter than expected but Bucky approved.

“I'm Bucky. And your new best friend is Jack.” They let go of their hands to look at each other.

 _Jack?_ Clint signed. Awesome. _Where's the kitchen and can I make some coffee?_

_Sure. Make more for me and Steve too._

_Will do._

Steve was still watching him from the couch and as Jack and Clint disappeared in the kitchen, Bucky sighed heavily again and sagged back on the couch.

“My nephew, Connor, my sister's middle boy, was born hearing impaired. I learned sign language along with the family to make him feel as comfortable as possible,” he said by way of explanation and Steve nodded in response, a miserable air surrounding him again.

“Look, Bucky, I am really sorry for Nat and for her coming into your house. I should-”

“Shut up, Steve! There's nothing to apologize for. It's nice to know that you have friends who care so much they'd break into someone's house just to make sure you're all right. Although, they did it for all the wrong reasons today.” Bucky leaned back and shook his head as he glanced at Steve ruefully. “Thank God you have me. Obviously, I'm the sanest person from your inner circle by the looks of it, and pal, good luck with _that_.”

“Yes, thank God for you,” Steve muttered with such fondness that Bucky thanked whoever was in charge of his fate that they'd made it possible for him to meet Steve. Bucky couldn't help himself and with a surge of complete affection, he reached out and ruffled Steve's hair, making it stick up in all directions.

“You're stuck with me now, pal.” His gruff voice couldn't hide all the emotion behind the statement and honestly, it felt unfair to even try, especially when Steve's eyes turned warmer, a hidden emotion behind them. The blonde man caught Bucky's hand and squeezed it lightly.

“I'm happy to be stuck with you, Bucky.”

“'til the end of the line, Stevie?”

“'til the end of the line, Buck.” Steve said his name in such a reverent way he almost made Bucky blush. Combine that with the startling blue eyes that contained the equation of the most honest souls Bucky was ever lucky to meet, and yes, ladies, gentlemen and non-binary people, it was official at this point that his crush on Steve was indeed becoming something slightly more. And for now, that was enough for Bucky.

Think of all the sappiest shit that ever crossed one's mind and one would still be incapable of understanding how Bucky felt upon hearing this. The small ball of warmth from his belly spread throughout his entire body, filling him with a sense of right that was unfamiliar to him. The sudden burst of affection almost choked him and to stop himself from blurting some silly thing, he squeezed Steve's hand back and held on for dear life. But the certainty that Steve gazed back with the same kind of tenderness made him feel a little bit better.

“If you guys've decided that you've gazed at each other long enough, coffee is ready and me and Jack are still waiting for our bacon and scrambled eggs.”

Clint couldn't even be bothered to react when Bucky scowled back at him in response as Steve let go of his hand. He huffed again and got up.

“Come on, Rogers! I promised your friend some breakfast. Though why he thinks Jack is going to have one too beats me.”

“Clint loves dogs. In fact I think he has one too. Name's Lucky.”

“Huh. I got to fix a play date for Jack then.” Bucky scrunched his nose. “Actually, bathroom first then the kitchen. Be right back.”

In spite of the sudden and unpleasant start to the day, Bucky thought it was actually nice to have someone in the house. Also, it had been probably the best sleep he had in the last few years. As he brushed his teeth, he kept recalling Steve's warm gaze. There was something between them. Should Bucky risk it and try for more? He checked himself in the mirror. He had a fucking smile on his face. A smile. On. His. Face. Even before he even had his coffee. Yeah, he was doomed.

He quickly changed his t-shirt then got down-stairs just in time to hear his doorbell ring again. Steve was already frowning and was about to answer, so Bucky pretty much could guess who was behind it. Squaring his shoulders, he went to the door.

“You go and wash your face. There's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink. I'll answer the door.”

“Buck.” That soft look again. How many times could this man make him want to go and hug him? Maybe climb him like a tree.

“Go, Steve. I'll be fine.”

The doorbell rang again as Steve disappeared upstairs and Bucky's scowl returned to his face. So he opened the door to see Natasha and Sam standing sheepishly in front of it. Well, mostly Sam. Natasha was just peering at him, keeping a careful look on her face. Not that Bucky was fooled.

“We have pastries as an apology for earlier,” Sam declared solemnly as he handed a delicious smelling paper bag to Bucky. Natasha watched him with a carefully blank face, assessing him from every angle. Not that it bothered Bucky because at this point the wonderful aroma coming from the bag melted all his senses into one big puddle of craving.

“Lemon tarts?” Bucky began the inventory.

“Of course.” Sam nodded, quite eager to be forgiven.

“Chocolate muffins, too?”

“What do you take me for?” Sam grinned at him and Bucky found himself grinning back.

“Fine, Wilson. Let's pretend I didn't sing their praises last Saturday. So A plus for the effort of actually remembering.”

“Thank you, Barnes. I do try. Am I forgiven?”

“Yes, you are. Go and join Clint in the kitchen. Steve is upstairs freshening up.” Sam passed by Bucky without a glance back at Natasha, who kept staring back at Bucky. It said a lot about the things he'd seen in his life because it didn't frighten him. And Natasha was indeed the type of person to go in for killing. She might have been dressed in a soft grey jumper and black jeans but by God, she looked like more of an effective killing machine than half a dozen of those superheroes that seemed to enjoy the New York life a little too much, thus attracting too many villains here in the first place.

“You don't look like the type of person to go and buy pastries,” Bucky mumbled. “So what did you bring as an apology gift?”

“What makes you think I want to apologize in the first place?” she asked raising an eyebrow, but it didn't fool Bucky.

“Because you know better. Now give me.”

Bucky was thus pleasantly surprised to watch an almost reluctant Natasha handing him a bottle of vodka. The tag was in Russian, but Bucky really did like this drink and could recognize the tag anywhere. _Stolichnaya Elit_. “Fine, get in. But I won't share!”

“You keep thinking that, Barnes.”

“Whatever, Natasha!”

Just to be safe, Bucky went and hid the bottle though something told him Natasha was not an easily fooled woman. Still, a warm sensation spread through his body when he entered the kitchen to see Clint and Jack on the floor still playing, while Natasha and Sam were having a soft conversation around coffee, which Steve joined in, looking stunning again. (Shut up, lizard brain, no one wanted to hear what you thought about seeing Steve like that.) And as he prepared breakfast for everyone, he kept wondering if starting anything with Steve might bring these people closer. Because he sure as hell wanted to spend more time with Clint who seemed to have psychic powers when it came to dogs ( _Clint, be a pal and teach my asshole of a dog not to chew sneakers anymore_.) and with Sam ( _No, Sam, just because you want grilled cheese, it doesn't mean I'm going to- Are you pouting? Why the fuck are you pouting?_ ). And while Natasha continued to be the unknown in the equation, she warmed up to the whole idea of having breakfast in his house so Bucky had to admit (only to himself) that he actually appreciated her dry sense of humor and her power to control the men in her life.

Bucky liked the sense of companionship that surrounded them. But he loved the way Steve's body kept pressing next to his even though there was still plenty of space around the table. Yeah, maybe he wasn't that alone in the attraction department.

In the following weeks they settled into a sort of a weird routine. When Steve wasn't gone on missions, he was hanging out with Bucky and sometimes Sam too, watching movies from Sean Bean's filmography, which meant that they'd seen all the Sharpe movies ( _Yes, Bucky, Sean Bean looks great in suspenders. No, I have no idea how you would look. Probably great. I think._ ) followed by _Anna Karenina_ ( _No, Bucky I'm not crying. There's something stuck in my eyes. Seriously, look at it. See if you spot anything._ ) to _Troy_ ( _Forget about Sean Bean, Bucky. Who the hell plays Hector?_ ).

Bucky enjoyed Steve's wonder as if each movie was a small wonder in itself, something new and worth his time, especially if he'd spend it with Bucky and Jack. He liked to see Steve relax and even though he kept a lot of things to himself, Steve would gladly speak about his deceased mom or art or his friends. While it didn't escape Bucky that a lot of details were omitted, he believed the best course of action was to wait and see whether Steve would open up more the more time they spent together.

Which is why, just a few weeks after that chaotic morning, Bucky invited Steve to spend a day with him at the studio. While his studio wasn't very large, the space was so well designed that he'd been able to organize things in the manner that suited him the most. The Western wall was dominated by large windows that could be opened sideways, leaving the afternoon sun to dwell inside the space and paint it with perfect light. At the center of the large room was his workbench with his favorite tools in small wooden boxes underneath. On one side of the wall, he'd devised shelves with a ladder on them. There one could find everything from basic carving tools, his chisels and V-tools and Sloyd knives to his coping saws and his sharpening equipment, all the various stones and strops he used to keep the edges of his carving tools sharp. They were all surprisingly well organized and Bucky might have been debunking the myth of the messy artist all on his own. A special cupboard of his own design sat next to the shelves to hold his screw-drivers and nails, his screws and hammers, his hinges and handles.

On the other side of the wall there were different chunks of wood: nothing was thrown away, everything was used for a purpose. One of the first things his grandpappy had taught him was the difference between two major types of wood: the hardwoods and the softwoods and which ones Bucky should choose for carving and which ones to avoid like hell. The studio was filled with the subtle scent of wintergreen oil from the small piece of yellow birch Bucky had recently worked, but there were subtle scents of coast redwood and Jack Pine. There was also black spruce and Arizona cypress, hickory, and American muskwood. They were all adding flavor to the drabness of the studio and made Bucky feel at home, almost picturing a life for them. He respected the wood, not only because, at the end of the day, he was a wood carver by trade, but also because his grandpappy had taught him to respect the spirit of things. And wood had been a material used in so many small but quintessential aspects of human life that Bucky was at times in awe of its possibilities.

Towards the back of his studio, there was a small kitchen area with an adjacent bathroom and a kennel designed especially for Jack. Sometimes, Bucky found it hard to leave Jack alone at home, especially during what he knew were going to be long days. Next to the kitchen, there was a small chamber which was dedicated to all those creations of Bucky's that would sometimes find their way to Dean's shop, other times they would be donated to friends and family. There were small things like cigar boxes with elegant leaves carved into them and small drumsticks from that one time when Bucky caught the attention of a rock band drummer, their grasps smoothed perfectly. There were chests and small wooden toys and even a little nightstand. There were pieces that he'd botched and at times he felt like those spoke the most about him. They all were proof of those times when nightmares would mar Bucky's nights, and haunt him to such an extent that he had to surrender himself to the physical work to drown every other thought.

His studio had been his safe haven and now he was willingly letting Steve inside of it.

“It's really great, Bucky. You must be proud.” Steve smiled kindly at him as Bucky ended the tour of the studio.

“Thank you. I am, actually. Surprisingly.” Bucky rubbed the nape of his neck with one hand. “Anyway, make yourself comfortable. Sketch, have a look around, do whatever you want to do. You'll find me at my workbench.”

Steve nodded in understanding and left Bucky to his own devices as he went to find a good position for his sketching. For a while, nothing could be heard inside the studio except the gentle tunes of the radio, the slight scraping sounds and Steve's charcoal sliding easily on the paper, while Jack chewed softly on his tennis ball. There was an odd poetry in motion and unbeknownst to Bucky, he was the central piece.

For Bucky failed to notice that after a while Steve stopped sketching and began watching his hands, the way they moved above the wood, grasping it firmly or softly, bending it to his will. Bucky failed to see the poetry of his own movements, of the artistic history of his callouses and of his hands. The contrast between his thin, elegant fingers and the strength of his tools was all the more mesmerizing since the sun painted its light over Bucky and the raw material from which he was creating form and shape.

It shouldn't have surprised him that when he took a short break, Steve approached him. But it did. And it shouldn't have surprised him when he looked up to see Steve watching him carefully in awe. But it did. It was as if Steve was a being of light as the sun dipped his golden hair into an imaginary halo. His blue eyes were blazing with want, making Bucky's breath stutter in his chest. His fingers trembled. In just a few precious seconds, the world exploded in the most delicious sensation of all as Steve leaned silently and stole Bucky's fire in the most breathtaking kiss.

 

Chapter Five

_In which Bucky reaches maximum happiness in his oblivious state_

 

It took Bucky a few moments to realize what was happening, but then he got with the program and pressed back just as hard. He reached for Steve, caressed his nape with one hand as he cupped his face with the other. Suddenly, Bucky gave a small gasp of pleasure as Steve gently bit his bottom lip and didn't waste any time deepening the kiss. Bucky felt drunk on sensation and craved more. By the slightly shaking of the hands and sometimes clumsiness in the way their noses bumped at times or teeth clunked, By the way Steve's hands shook slightly, his nose bumped clumsily against Bucky's, the way their teeth clunked together Bucky quickly realised Steve didn't have much experience in the making out area (and he filed that information away, because how could a man like Steve lack in the dating pool area?). What Steve lacked in technique, however, he most definitely made up for in sheer enthusiasm and passion. Without sounding too cheesy, yes, Bucky considered this the best kiss he'd had in a while. Maybe ever. Steve's taste on his lips was goddamn wonderful and he was going to make out with this man as much as he wanted. He was going to make sure of that.

When they finally parted (because kissing was awesome, but not when you were out of breath), Bucky answered Steve's shy smile with one of his own.

“I need to get you out on a date,” Steve muttered, and by God, his gravelly voice did something to Bucky.

“Don't you think you got that backwards, pal?” Bucky replied because he was a smart-ass and no matter how good the kiss was, he was always going to be a smart-ass.

“Maybe, but you looked gorgeous and I couldn't resist.” The sincerity of the statement flayed Bucky open. There was no other way to describe the rawness that suddenly tightened around his heart and he quickly pressed his lips against Steve's. Bucky Barnes had had his fair share of lovers, but none, perhaps not even Ethan, had been so sincere in their courting. Each of Steve’s words oozed a certain type of sincerity that Bucky found refreshing. But also a little overwhelming at times.

“Are you calling me irresistible, Stevie?” Bucky joked, but he was half serious and Steve seemed to sense that, for he cupped Bucky's face with his gentle hands, and tilted it just so.

“Yes, Buck. Why? What are you going to do about it?”

“I'm going to ask you out for dinner tonight. My place, take out, a movie and my couch, on which we're going to make out.” Bucky wasn't ashamed to realize he was blushing. So he was a grown man still able to blush apparently. That didn't seem to deter Steve. His features seemed to soften even more, his blue gentle eyes, the bow of his lips so tempting.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Good, then you're in charge of our first official, non-couch date.” Bucky smirked because he was good at delegating, but Steve just rolled his eyes.

“No pressure.”

“None whatsoever.”

“Fine, Barnes. Challenge accepted.” Steve let him go, and for a moment Bucky found himself scrambling to keep contact, to touch Steve. His instinct told him Steve hadn't experienced a lot of affectionate touches and gentle caresses in his life. “I'll dazzle you with my original location and my brilliant organization,” Steve added as he gently kissed Bucky's hands.

“You'd better, Rogers. Don't think that I'm an easy guy.”

“I'd never presume so.” Steve smiled. “I'd better get back to my sketching, let you finish here.”

“Yeah, you should. But feel free to interrupt me whenever you're unable to resist my charms. I'd hate to see you tortured like that. And I'm a selfless guy.” Bucky smirked back.

“Oh, so this is how it's going to be?” Steve as a goody two shoes was awesome, but Steve as a teasing bastard was even better. “What a self-sacrificing hero you are, Barnes.”

“Yes, I know, right?” Bucky winked, a blessed giddiness filling his heart.

They returned to their work, although it was obvious neither of them could concentrate. Every once in a while, either Bucky or Steve would break his activity and gravitate around the other until he'd find an opening and initiate more kissing. By the time they went for lunch, Bucky hadn't done much work and Steve hadn't sketched much of anything. Jack had watched the whole spectacle like a good dog, though perhaps slightly disappointed that some of the attention hadn't been applied to him.

That evening, like he promised, Bucky and Steve made out on the couch through boxes of Chinese food and empty bottles of beers, while _The Hobbit An Unexpected Journey_ played in the background. Steve's body was warm against his as they kissed the hell out of each other until Bucky's lips were swollen and tender and still he craved more.

There were very few men Bucky would have felt tempted to have such make-out sessions with, even fewer with whom he would have sought them out. One had been Ethan, the other had been Louie, his first real boyfriend, who had been a true kissing artist, and Bucky had loved him for it. Even compared with Louis, his kisses with Steve were in a league of their own. For their sincerity and intensity and, most importantly, for their openness. With other men kisses had usually been a prelude to something else, sometimes disregarded completely in favor of moving things forward as fast as possible. Bucky couldn't complain because, at times, he'd been the one pushing past kissing to get to more serious business.

With Steve, only partly because Bucky could sense Steve's lack of experience, he felt much more inclined to explore each corner of Steve's lips, mark them as his own, even though he had never been the type for possessiveness, and it was a trait he didn't always consider charming. He was taking joy in the small sounds of pleasure, the gasps and the bumping of the noses, the little touches, the way Steve held him like he was something precious like Steve had the power to hurt him and barely managed to hold himself back. With Steve's little touches and his kisses and his care, Bucky forgot entirely about his blemished body, about all the ugly scarring that he didn't want to show.

He was half hard and in a state of utter bliss when he abruptly realized he was trapped between Steve's bulk and the back of the couch. Steve's hand was traveling down Bucky's back, pushing against his shirt like it personally offended him, and his hand on Bucky's blemished skin was like a bucket of cold water on a sizzling fire. Suddenly, reality reared its ugly head. It drowned all desire, shoving to the forefront of his mind the only problem Bucky deemed _make it or break it_. His whole body stiffened, mind blanking out at the thought of what was safely hidden by his clothes.

Steve must have noticed. He immediately stopped. When Bucky pushed against his shoulders, he pulled away with no hesitation, instantly pushing himself back, rearranging his body so Bucky could sit next to him.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said immediately, his hands clasped in his lap like he was trying to make himself small, as non-threatening as possible. Bucky wouldn't be able to live with himself if he let Steve think he'd done something wrong. He covered Steve's clasped hands with his own until Steve relaxed, and opened one hand so they could intertwine their fingers. They breathed in silence for a few precious moments.

“I think I need to show you something.” Bucky broke the silence, his voice sounding hesitant at best, shot to hell at worst. “Before this carries on any further.”

“I didn't want to put any pressure on you,” Steve said immediately, his blue eyes meeting Bucky's in the most honest display of affection.

“You didn't pressure me into anything, Steve.” Bucky smiled ruefully. “It's just that you need to see something. It's an important part of me and I think it'd help you decide whether you want to pursue something more serious with me or stop right now.”

“Only if you're comfortable with me seeing it. Though there isn't much that could make me not want to date you, Buck.” Steve squeezed his hand a little tighter. “Like I said, only if you want to.”

“Look, I'm not comfortable with it and I don't think I will ever be, but I came to accept it.” Bucky rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “It kind of ruined the one serious relationship I had after I came back from Afghanistan and it wasn't because my partner had a problem with it. It's because _I_ thought he had a problem with it and it still sort of gets me.” Bucky released Steve's hand and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. Steve stopped him by gently placing a hand over it.

“I think I can guess what you're trying to show me, but for that, I think we should create the right atmosphere. How about we go to your bedroom, make ourselves comfortable and let Jack have his way in the living room?”

“I'm not sure that's such a great idea.” Bucky shook his head, but Steve kept eye contact, his blue eyes determined.

“Just this once, trust me.”

Bucky finally nodded. He got up and went to check if Jack had water and everything else he needed, though he wasn't sure this had a point. As soon as Steve saw his scars, he'd run for the hills, or better yet, pretend to accept them, only to not call and then move to the moon so as not to see Bucky and his Frankenstein body ever again (and wow, he had always had a flair for the melodramatic, but he would never have guessed that it went that far; oh, well...).

As if his dog could read minds, Jack was already settled on the couch and he seemed to quite enjoy his new place, judging by his indifference to Bucky's shaky petting. Jack opened his eyes slightly and stared straight back as if to say _I know you're stalling. Just go and do what you have to do_. To which, Bucky of course scowled, but obeyed, because at times Jack was smarter than him. God help him.

Steve was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs with a kind smile on his face and God, but Bucky really liked him. He really hoped the big reveal was going to be more of a _make them_ than a _break them_ sort of thing.

In the bedroom, he switched on the lamp on his nightstand and then pulled the curtains, casting the entire bedroom in a soft light. Steve sat down on the bed as if unsure of where he should sit, but his eyes followed every movement Bucky made.

“I feel like I'm back at home, sneaking my first boyfriend up to my room when mom and dad were out,” Bucky joked though by then the tension had ratcheted up a notch. He bit his bottom lip hard, then buckled up for what was going to be a difficult conversation.

“It was the second month of my third tour,” Bucky began, coming to stand in front of Steve, watching him carefully. “It was just a simple patrol, nothing that we hadn't done before. The IED came out of nowhere.” Bucky swallowed hard, the sudden lump in his throat making him wish he had a glass of water. “I was the luckiest one if you consider lucky being thrown out into the air at a velocity my body could barely survive, half burning already. The others weren't even that lucky. One of my men lost both legs, another an arm, the other four didn't make it.” Bucky bit his bottom lip harder, hard enough to bruise. “And you know what? It wasn't the damn broken bones, it was the burning that was the worst.”

Bucky realized as he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it off that it had been the steady way Steve had listened to his confession that gave him the courage to carry on. Throughout all of it, not once had Steve gasped or pitied him, or even worse offered empty words of encouragement. So in the soft glow of the lamp light, Bucky shed his t-shirt and then his sweat pants, letting Steve see his body, as if ready for an inspection he was certain he would fail. Standing in front of Steve in his black boxers, he took a deep breath, ignored the trembling that settled in his limbs and then turned around. A sharp intake of breath was the only sign that Steve saw what Bucky had been trying to tell him.

He had suffered third-degree burns on his whole back, part of his left arm, mainly around his shoulder, and the left leg. His whole thigh had needed skin grafts, which only partially hid the horror it had gone through. In the beginning, it hadn't even hurt, because his nerves had been destroyed beyond repair; sensation had completely disappeared. He'd been in and out of consciousness for the first two weeks; most of the doctors had told him that he'd been very lucky. For them, the most pressing problem had been how to treat his burns at the same time as his broken bones. His right leg, four ribs, his clavicle and his left arm had all been broken, his back looked like someone had tried to cook him alive and turn his left leg into a barbecue for four.

The healing had been an exquisite exercise in torture, Bucky experiencing the kind of pain that drove him mad at times. PT came to stand for _pain and torture_ because whoever had told him that physical therapy would help (without mentioning how difficult and excruciating it would be) was a lying liar who lied and deserved to burn in the deepest pit of hell. And out of all those wounds, all those gut-wrenching months, when he'd have rather died sometimes than see the dawn of another day, these horrendous scars remained. A painful reminder that he was never going to be the same again, that maybe death didn't always take back its own, but it sure as hell liked to mark them for later reckoning. That he was going to be marked forever by someone else's war in which he had foolishly believed, and against which his grandpappy had strongly argued, had only added insult to injury.

For the longest time, Bucky had thought the whole experience had been a punishment from God. Even though his mom had argued over and over that God wasn't the malevolent deity a lot of the clergy seemed inclined to describe Him as, Bucky couldn't help but wonder.

So here he was, standing next to naked in front of a guy that, now that he was pretty damn sure he was going to lose him, what with the scars, he could admit there was a good chance he could come to love. The skin on his back resembled a parchment forgotten by time, a charred map of pain that wrapped itself around his left shoulder, covered his entire back, and bit with ferocity into his left thigh from groin to knee. It was a numb part of him that would forever remind him of the mistakes of his youth.

He steeled himself, awaiting the verdict, but a soft thud pulled him out of his misery. He turned around. Bucky had been so caught up in his dark thoughts that he'd failed to hear Steve taking off his clothes. He was kneeling in front of Bucky, dressed in just his boxers. His skin was perfect and his abs, well, okay, Bucky still had the presence of mind to know even Hollywood action heroes and New York's superheroes would have murdered for a body like Steve's. Some drooling might have been involved. Bucky was not above admitting that. He was only human and his goddamn reveal made him want to hurl himself into the void, so he definitely needed some eye-candy.

“What are you doing?” he muttered, his voice so hoarse it sounded like he'd taken a shot of gravel.

“Thank you for telling me and for showing me this, Buck.” Steve replied as he lightly touched Bucky above his knees, both hands slowly sliding up his thighs. Bucky's breath caught at the kindness and determination on Steve's face, the likes of which he'd never been directed at him before. “I won't lie to you and say they mean nothing, Buck, because they do.” Steve pressed a tender kiss to the first set of scars, just above his left knee. “I wish I could say that they're a sign of bravery, most people probably do, but to me, they're a sign of perseverance. And that's the most important thing. There's a saying, _If you're going through hell, keep going_. And that's what you did, Bucky. You kept on going.”

Steve kissed the marred skin a couple more times, all the time keeping eye-contact with Bucky, who could barely contain his emotions. His breath was ragged as Steve stood and kissed the wounded shoulder. Those kisses felt like worshipping, like a secret blessing offered between soldiers, when no one else would give it to them because no one else would understand what they'd gone through. They were silent prayers of redemption.

Bucky's knees felt weak. He braced his hands on Steve's hips as he closed his eyes in an attempt to hold everything in.

“Look at me,” Steve whispered, and compelled by the invisible force of that solemn command, Bucky opened them again as Steve caressed his back. “They mean nothing to me, Bucky.” The verdict came and went, but Bucky's ears still filled with the white noise of dread. Because such immensely good things never happened to him. “They mean nothing to me because they don't represent you. These scars are part of you, but they aren't you. They're part of the story that makes _you_ who you are today. They're not something that would _ever_ make me leave or stop being with you.”

“Steve.” The name flew from Bucky's lips like a prayer of thanks to God. Blue eyes sparkled with a depth of emotion Bucky had never before encountered. It made him want to burrow inside Steve and never let go. He rested his head on his strong shoulder, welcoming the press of that splendid body against his marred one and held on. Steve tightened the hug in an instant.

“With my body I thee worship,” Steve murmured, and wow, just when Bucky thought that Steve said all the right things, he went and upped the game. “My body may look perfect to you, I might not have scars and I might be the poster boy for the perfect human being, but you saw past that. You make fun of my t-shirts and you scowl at me when I'm being a jerk. You yelled at me when we went to the bar and you see the imperfections in me. You see _me_. And maybe you think I'm perfect and maybe you don't, but Buck, with all these scars, you're pretty much the only person that ever came close to looking pretty close to perfect to me.”

By this point, Bucky was man enough to admit he was at least half in love with Steve Rogers. He didn't cry, but he was damn well close to it and held on to Steve like a drowning man. Steve held on just as tight, if not tighter, and they breathed together in silence for what felt like forever.

“I have an idea,” Bucky said quietly. He looked up at Steve and gently pressed his lips against his. “Do you want to sleep here tonight? I'll call in Jack and we'll cuddle.”

“Puppy cuddles... I like it already.” Steve kissed him one more time before he let go.

So that's what they did. Bucky called Jack up, who came so quickly it was like he was waiting to be called. Maybe his dog was a mind reader; Bucky wouldn't have been surprised. He and Steve got under the covers and in spite of all the grumbles (mostly from Bucky because seriously _Why do I have to be the little spoon, Steve?_ ) and Jack's scowling as he settled at their feet (yeah, his dog definitely knew something was up), Bucky fell asleep accompanied by tiny puppy snores and Steve's tiny puffs of air on his shoulder, enveloped in the kind of warmth that made his heart sore.

It was glorious.

Steve left on another mission two days later, but nothing could erase Bucky's stupid smile off Bucky's stupid face. Isidora had scowled at him and told him he made her sick, though she patted him proudly on the shoulder and might have invited Steve for a delicious meal as soon as possible. Living with his head above clouds was wonderful, but even that didn't make him forget to call his mom.

“Buchanan, my darling!”

“You said that you'd only call me that if I don't tell you when I'm coming home!” Bucky grumbled.

“That was a couple of weeks ago,” she replied. “Which also proves that if I don't call, you don't call.”

“Ma, come on! I've been busy.”

“Yeah, yeah, Buchanan, tell that to someone that believes you and didn't carry you in her body for nine months.”

“And now I see where I got my flair for the dramatic.” He rolled his eyes just as his mom hollered away from the receiver:

“George Barnes, I think your son is sassing me.”

“I thought he knew better than that.” Bucky heard his dad's reply, sheer amusement in his voice. “Also, it's very funny how he's just _my_ son again.”

“Because you know better, too.” Winnie focused her attention back on her son. “Just for that, you'd better have some really good news, Buchanan, or else I swear to God, I'll call your sister and let her sort out your sassing.”

“Threatening me with Becca now, ma?” he laughed. “Well, you can play that card another time. I managed to have a look at my calendar and to sort some stuff out. So with a little bit of luck, I'll be with you in probably a month, maybe a month and a half. And before you say anything, I'll be able to stay one week. Ten days, if you're a nice mom and stop calling me Buchanan.”

“Oh, that's wonderful, Bucky.” His mom sounded jubilant. “It'll be great to have you here for _ten_ _days_.” She stressed the number and Bucky laughed again.

“Got it, ma. Look, I've got to go, but I'll speak to you soon, okay?”

“Okay, honey. Just call me one of these afternoons and let me know how you are, all right?”

“Yes, ma. Talk to you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

A few days later, the Avengers apparently had defeated an invasion of robots in downtown Miami. Bucky really enjoyed this spreading out of criminality, if only because New York had to be spared every once in a while. He knew Miami was taking the attention off New York because for days newspapers had been printing the same picture: Tony Stark in his Iron Man costume, face-plate up, curling his lip in disdain at one of those damn robots, while Captain America rolled his eyes at him, not even the cowl able to hide Cap's exasperation. It stuck in his mind because around that time, Steve called and told him that he was ready for their first date: Saturday around noon, and he was taking Bucky to Coney Island. Bucky happily agreed, so the rest of the week passed more quickly than the rabbit from _Alice in Wonderland_.

Naturally that Saturday Bucky was an emotional wreck. He rubbed his palms over his dark jeans and checked through the window again just to make sure that he hadn't somehow missed Steve coming to get him. Then he rolled his eyes at himself. Then he sat down on the couch. And then the knee shaking began. Jack whined at him. Really, if Jack had a voice, he wouldn't say anything flattering about Bucky at this point. But truth was, Bucky was running high on the adrenaline because one, this was his biggest first date in a while, and two, well, he was going out with _Steve_.

Steve Rogers, a guy so honest and honourable he might as well be working for the President and be paraded around on the Fourth of July as a symbol of old good American values, right next to the eagle and Alexander Hamilton (blame Lin-Manuel Miranda and his genius, and also Bucky was cultured as shit, yeah? So no judging). Bucky was a mess. But hey, he was a mess that Steve wanted. _Take that_ all you other wholesome guys that thought they had a shot at running away into the sunset with Steve, leaving Bucky bereft of one of the greatest people he'd ever met (Yes, Steve was at this point in the same league as grandpappy, Becca, and his parents, and no, he wasn't going to admit that to anyone. Well, he admitted it to you just now, but that was another issue entirely. Stop pointing out obvious facts).

Anyway, Bucky had a point with all of this, which was that despite this being a date with basically the greatest guy, he wanted to be casual about everything. Sure, he was failing miserably at it, but that was another matter entirely. So he dressed in a baseball shirt and dark jeans and the only pair of sneakers left unchewed by Jack, who was eyeing them, so most likely they wouldn't remain untouched for long. Over it all, he added his leather jacket because it could never hurt. Wardrobe chosen, he cleaned up a little, maybe used some gel in his hair, which was becoming a little bit longer than he normally wore it (he might need a trim in the near future; there definitely wasn't time to get one now, before the date), so he used his sunglasses as a hair band. He had the keys to the house in his left pocket and his cell and wallet in the right. He was all set and ready to go, if only Steve would hurry up and get here, goddamn it.

As if compelled by his thoughts, the doorbell rang. Bucky quickly petted Jack twice, who didn't bother to move, and went to open the door eagerly. And then froze, maybe drooled a little, because he couldn't be held responsible for his actions. Steve was dressed in a white t-shirt, a little tight, but not as bad as his usual, and a leather jacket. Combined with blue jeans that hugged his thighs like a second skin and my God, in that moment Bucky was struck with the desire, straight from the back of his lizard brain, to fall down to his knees and suck Steve off. There was also a sudden case of blushing as a result of such heavy lizard thinking, but that was understandable.

“Hey, Buck, ready to go?” Steve asked and smirked. The little shit knew exactly what he was making Bucky go through. Oh, well, it couldn't be helped, so Bucky shrugged and stepped out of the house, before locking the door.

“It's about time, Steve. A few more minutes and I would've turned ninety-six.”

“Isidora was right. You're such a grumpy old man.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. Also, you aren't allowed to become her ally and mock me endlessly, because I was your friend first and-” Bucky froze completely when Steve stopped in front of a beautiful Harley, which Bucky wanted to worship and cry over at the same time. “Stevie, please tell me that this is not your bike and we're not going to Coney Island on it.”

“Bucky, this is not my bike and we aren't going to Coney Island on it.”

Pause.

“You're lying, right?”

“Yes.”

Bucky turned to Steve and kissed the hell out of him. Really, there was no other way. This man might just be the end of him, and Bucky was just so glad to go this way. As Steve gripped his hips to pull him closer, Bucky thought that he must have done something genuinely good in a past life, like saving hundreds of puppies, to meet a guy like this one. He sighed happily as he let go of Steve, leaving him a little dazed on the sidewalk as Bucky went to admire the bike. Harley Davidson Street 750, over which George Barnes probably would have cried actual tears.

“She's a beauty, Steve.”

“I think so.” But he wasn't looking at the motorcycle, he was looking at Bucky and God, but this man made his heart enter overdrive. He kissed Steve one more time, before they finally climbed on the bike and made their way to Coney Island.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, a bit windy, but when the sun went behind the clouds, Bucky was happy that he'd worn his leather jacket. Once they arrived, Bucky noticed two things: Steve was wearing his baseball cap again, probably going for the inconspicuous as he added a pair of aviators to the ensemble. The man looked like your average Joe, but knowing his fears, Bucky didn’t mention anything, just put on his own sunglasses. The second thing that he noticed was that they were holding hands. Steve took his hand as they made their way across the boardwalk and squeezed it lightly, maybe asking if it was okay, which it most definitely was, and Bucky squeezed back. They kept on walking and the few strange looks cast in their direction were met with indifference. Most of the people around them were too focused on their own fun to even notice them.

At times Bucky really enjoyed being lost in the crowd, being just another drop in the human ocean, but it felt like Steve loved it even more. As they enthusiastically worked their way through every attraction, Steve’s shoulders began to relax. And as Isidora had gladly pointed out to him, apparently Coney Island had been the birth place of the hot dog and Bucky really wanted to eat one, but after a ride like Brooklyn Flyer, he wasn't quite ready to put for any food in his stomach.

“You look like you want to throw up,” Steve said. The undertone of amusement didn't help Bucky much as he had to sit down and take a gulp of air.

“You're a punk, you know that?” He inhaled deeply. “You're supposed to woo me, Steve. You know, fun rides, good food, maybe even a stuffed animal. You're not supposed to make fun of me.”

“Oh, so that's how it is?”

“Yes, that's how it _supposed_ to be, anyway,” Bucky whined. “But you're breaking all the rules.” Steve sat down next to him and handed him a bottle of water. Then he looked around him and, even though the aviators were hiding most of his face, he had was a wistful look that unsettled Bucky. At times, Steve seemed to be drowning in a melancholic abyss, and for the life of him, Bucky couldn't prevent it, no matter how hard he tried.

“I'm having fun, Stevie,” he said gently as he squeezed Steve's shoulder. “I'm sorry if I ruined the mood.”

“You don't need to be sorry about anything, Buck.” Steve knocked their shoulders together. “It's just that when I was little, we were really poor. Dad died in the war, mom worked as a nurse, barely earning enough for both of us. We always dreamed one day we'd have enough money to come here and just have one day of fun and games. And that we'd go to a diner, try all types of pie. We'd never got a chance to do them.” Steve shrugged and there was something so despondent in the gesture Bucky's heart hurt for him. He slipped his arm around Steve's shoulders drawing him in. “It's good to be here with you, but I wish I could have given my mom a day like this. She would have loved it.”

“She died?”

“A long time ago.” For a minute they swept their eyes over the crowds and the screaming rides, almost floating above the shouts and the smells and the delighted screams.

“I think she'd be happy to see you here, Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “I think she's smiling down on you right now and she's just happy that you've managed to fulfil one of your dreams.” He pecked Steve on the cheek. “You turned out all right, Steve Rogers. I think your mom would be proud of you.”

Bucky had never been a good talker, seldom knew the right words, but this time he'd managed to find them. Despite the baseball cap and the sunglasses, Steve managed to hide his face in Bucky's shoulder and take deep breaths, while he squeezed the life out of Bucky in a half hug. It didn't bother Bucky. There were worse ways to go than a hug full of that much affection.

Bucky didn't know how long they stayed like that but it took a while for Steve to compose himself, and Bucky was in no hurry to speed up the process.

When Steve seemed calmer, when Bucky felt him relax at last, he said, “Now, I know I'm awesome and right now you must be wondering what good deed you did in a past life to deserve me in this one,” Bucky smirked as Steve rolled his eyes, he could _feel_ it even through the sunglasses, “but my ass has gone numb and you promised me a stuffed animal. I want to eat a hot dog or three, and then we _will_ ride the Cyclone. And if I don't throw up all over you and your nice white t-shirt, I might even let you kiss me as you walk me to my door.”

Steve laughed out loud and it was the best sound Bucky had heard in a long time. Even more so because that was exactly what they did. Steve won him a stuffed dog that was too cute for words and which somehow managed to stay on Bucky's left shoulder most of the day. They ate hot dogs and rode the Cyclone. Twice. By the end of the second time, they were both a little green and agreed to never mention their mutual stupidity to anyone. Throughout all of this, they held hands and laughed and joked; it was by far the best date Bucky's life.

Bucky enjoyed the ride back even more, mostly because he stuck to Steve like a stamp and dared to press the palms of his hands under Steve's t-shirt. Steve's skin was warm and smooth, his muscles hard. Steve was unyielding and Bucky closed his eyes, thinking of Steve’s commanding persona. Steve was the type of person to command respect, authority rolled off of him in waves. There was something inherently honest and kind about him. Bucky found himself tempted to strip Steve of this persona, to make him lose a little of that control.

He pressed harder against Steve, half hard already, and Steve responded by pressing back. Bucky could feel energy thrumming through Steve's body, and the power of the bike beneath them. As soon as Steve parked the bike, he turned and stole Bucky's breath in a searing kiss. Bucky couldn't do anything but wrap his arms around Steve and hang on. The position wasn't comfortable, but neither seemed to care, and when Steve pulled back, it took them some time to compose themselves and get off the bike.

Flushed and giddy, Bucky smiled at Steve, whose eyes were smoldering, a hungry look on his face that made Bucky soar to the sky, so he was quick to ask,

“You'll be a gentleman and walk me to the door?”

“I will.” Steve's hoarse voice sent a sudden burst of energy down Bucky's spine. Abandoning his patience, he grabbed Steve's hand and pulled him up the stairs, ready to unlock the door and pick up where they'd left off. Only to be brought down to earth by Jack's barks and whines. Steve burst out laughing, and Bucky said sheepishly,

“Sorry. Can you wait while I take him out?”

“No problem. I'll wait.”

“You sure? I mean if you want, you-”

“Buck.” Huh, the commanding voice again. So yes, he might have a thing for authority figures after all. Steve cupped his cheeks, making sure he got Bucky's attention before adding, “You're worth the wait.” Steve's voice was tinged with awe and something inside Bucky clenched because there was something there, something that felt like Steve was talking about more than the time it would take Bucky to deal with Jack. He was caught in Steve's eyes and nervous butterflies played in his stomach.

“I'll be right back,” Bucky finally said and gave Steve a quick kiss. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Steve nodded and saw them out. Bucky found himself gulping for air. His emotions were all over the place. He hadn't known Steve for long but it felt like they were made to meet. Steve was so different from the other men he'd known, even Ethan. There was a raw honesty coursing through him, that out of time sensation that Bucky got from him. He'd felt honored that Steve trusted him enough to take a chance on him.

He walked Jack quickly and returned home only to discover Steve was not in his living room. The leather jacket on the staircase gave him away and Bucky realized where Steve was waiting for him. He smiled, made sure that Jack had everything he needed, checked that everything was locked up and turned off and made his way upstairs.

Warm light poured out of his bedroom. Steve was lying on his bed, reading, wearing only his t-shirt and boxers, his jeans neatly folded on Bucky's armchair. Warmth spread through Buck's body, a sensation no one would understand, no one who hadn’t prepared too many single cups of coffee and meals not meant to be shared, slept with half the bed old and a single toothbrush inside a cup made for many. It wasn't that Bucky hadn't enjoyed the single life, it wasn't that he didn't enjoy being alone. There was nothing wrong with being single, there was nothing wrong with being by yourself. But sometimes, when he was honest with himself, he could admit the past five years had held too many lonely moments.

And here was Steve, smiling gently, looking a little unsure and like the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen.

Bucky shed his jacket and jeans. He disappeared into the bathroom and when he returned, Steve had put the book on the nightstand and was waiting for Bucky. He looked nervous and seriously, Bucky wanted nothing more than to cuddle him and kiss him and that’s exactly what he did. He lay down besides Steve, so they were face to face, and it felt like a whole new adventure, a new experience, as if they were back in time and relating to another human being for the first time. Bucky touched Steve's lips with his finger, painting his face with invisible touches and caresses, touching each mole, each freckle, watching the gentle sweep of Steve's eyelashes as he closed his eyes in wonder.

Instinct guided Bucky, a little voice telling him to be gentle, to make this something special. He cupped Steve's cheeks and guided him closer, both breathing the same air before finally pressing against one another. And it was glorious as he tasted Steve again, the small sounds the other man made, the little puffs of air that Bucky released as he tasted each corner of Steve's lips, nipping them gently, teasing them as they pressed closer, bodies aligned perfectly.

Bucky needed to touch Steve's skin. He pushed at Steve's shirt, pressing his hands under the fabric, letting his fingers splay wide across that, _God_ , perfect back. He pulled him closer, then tugged at his shirt. “Off.”

Steve grinned at him, the hint of nervousness rapidly turning into something else, and his blue eyes were very dark. “You too.”

Bucky hesitated for a fraction of a second, thinking of his scars, watching as Steve pulled his shirt over his head, then stripped his off and couldn't hold back a gasp. The skin on skin sensation was so perfect, so intense, he forgot to be self-conscious of his scars. Their kisses turned raw and intense, the feeling of Steve's almost naked body against his dragging a whimper out of his throat. All Steve's hesitance was gone, had transformed into assertiveness. He rolled them around and positioned himself above Bucky, the drag of Steve’s body against his making them both moan in pleasure.

Steve's strength was such a turn on for Bucky. He couldn't pretend Steve moving him where Steve wanted him to go hadn't made him harder than ever. But Steve was more than happy to remind Bucky there was more to him than strength, more to him than perfect muscles and a perfect body and the hard cock pressing into Bucky's thigh. Steve paused, poised above him, watching Bucky, before slowly, gently, pressing kisses against his forehead and eyelids and nose. Biting down his jaw, Steve kissed every patch of skin he could find, leaving Bucky flushed with a mild case of embarrassment. No one had ever done that to him before.

Bucky closed his eyes as Steve shifted his attention to the scarred shoulder. Even though he could barely feel Steve's tongue on the numb tissue, it was incredibly arousing. It was safety and care and sent feelings he didn't have words for rushing through him. His hips jerked against Steve at the same time his hands slid into Steve's hair, wanting to curl around him. Steve blanketed his entire body, his fingers gently caressing, as Bucky felt unable to do anything but grip Steve tightly and free one hand to shove at the waistband of his boxers.

Steve got the message. He got them both out of their boxers, fast as thought, and when their cocks touched, both of them gasped. Bucky carded his fingers through Steve's hair and pulled him into a rough kiss while he rolled his hips, swallowing every delicious sound Steve made.

He let his hands slide down Steve's back to his ass, clutching tightly, as if Steve would save him and protect him and he was helpless to do anything but arch his body, wrap his legs around Steve's waist and let Steve take control. Steve who kissed him with such enthusiasm, with such determined desperation. Steve who pressed into him, arching and rolling his hips in a frantic movement, sending pleasure coursing through Bucky's veins. It felt like Steve was everywhere at once and Bucky fell prisoner to him, to the biting kisses against his collarbone, to the wet and desperate kisses against his mouth. Steve whispered his name, and it took Bucky a second to figure out it was a response to his own reverent rumblings.

Steve pushed himself up on one arm and Bucky whimpered, clutched after him, but Steve trailed his fingers down Bucky's chest, down his stomach and wrapped both of their cocks in his large, warm hand. Bucky's brain left the building and he bit down on Steve's shoulder, felt more than heard Steve's hiss of pleasure as he moaned Steve's name. Steve worked their cocks, smooth movements going ragged and fast and he caught Bucky's mouth to kiss him messily as pleasure mounted and Bucky fell over the edge, Steve following seconds later with a gasp that was lost in Bucky's mouth.

For a while, their harsh breaths resounded in the room, Steve a heavy but welcome weight against him. Bucky took huge gulps of air in an attempt to calm himself, feeling languid and satisfied. He couldn't bear the thought of not having Steve so close to him, the depth of this emotion a little stunning even to Bucky. However, the time of explanations was long gone so he kept on placing small and tender kisses over Steve's shoulders and head.

It took them a while to clean themselves up and let Jack in before going to sleep. Steve spooned him almost as soon as they were under the covers, both arms around Bucky and a leg trapped between Bucky's thighs. It was as if Steve couldn't bear the thought of being separated from Bucky either.

Yes, they were already that sappy kind of couple, but who cared? Bucky fell asleep to the sound of Steve's soft snores and the lovely thoughts of finally being in a true relationship. Because there were no doubts in Bucky's mind that Steve was not the type of person to run away from defining their relationship, to spend months agonising over whether or not they should call themselves boyfriends. In fact, Bucky was secure in the belief that Steve's honesty and his own willingness to make it work could make this relationship great, without the stupid games of modern dating.

  

Chapter six

_In which Bucky's obliviousness bursts like a bubble_

The following weeks proved Bucky correct. With the exception of when Steve was away on missions, they'd spend all their time together, splitting their time between both their houses.

They'd watch Sean Bean movies and eat all kinds of take-away, Bucky having realized earlier on that Steve was sadly lacking in his experience of cuisine. Who else was going to help him improve his palate if not Bucky? They spent so much time together, in fact, that whenever Sam would see them planted on his couch, he'd roll his eyes and tell them they made him sick. Which was most definitely not true, judging by Sam's little smile and the complete lack of irritation in his eyes.

The routine of going to work and spending all his spare time with Steve didn't make Bucky forget something Steve had mentioned during their first date. So he came up with a plan. Saturday morning, like any other good boy, he called his mom and asked for help.

“My own son calling me without me pestering him with messages and calls?” His mom answered the phone. “God have mercy on me. I think I might be dying. Be still my pour mama heart.”

“Ma, stop being so dramatic.” He rolled his eyes. “I do call you.”

“Whenever you want something, which is once in a blue moon. Just so you know, this whole thing makes me doubt the sincerity of your call.” His mom hummed, suspicious of his intentions before finally concluding, “Bucky Barnes, you want a favor.”

“Maybe I wanted to see how you were,” he grumbled.

“And maybe pigs fly and my hair is blue, which in case you were wondering, it's not. So tell me, my no longer so favorite son of mine, what can I do for you?”

“Will I become your favorite son again if you're the first one to find out I'm seeing someone?” He smirked when he heard her sharp intake of breath.

“Bucky, you're not just saying that to play with me, right? Because that would be a very cruel prank on your poor mom indeed.”

“No, ma. It's not a prank.”

“Is it Steve?”

“How did you know?”

“Well, besides the fact that I'm your mother and have wonderful powers of deduction, it's the way you mentioned him in our previous conversations.” His mom chuckled. “Steve said this, Steve did that. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” She paused, before adding in a much softer voice, “I don't think you realise how happy that makes me, son. It was time to meet someone who deserved you.”

“Ma, I'm not sure if I'm the one who deserves him.” Bucky told his mom how Steve reacted to his scars, which almost made his mom cry.

“Maybe it's not about deserving each other, Bucky,” his mom said after she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Maybe you're just two souls that resonate with one another. Shouldn't that be more than enough? You know, I never much believed in this theory of soul mates and what not, but I do think that sometimes people get to meet others with whom they resonate more. I think Steve is that one for you.”

“Thank you, ma.”

“So what does he do?”

“He's a military boy, still on active duty.”

“I see. And his parents? His family?”

“He's an orphan, ma.” His mom made a soft cooing sound. “Which actually brings me to the reason I called you.” Bucky, like a good son, told her the story of Steve and Coney Island and the pies.

“I see. Well, in that case, my son, grab a pen because you have a lot of things to write down. And I'd better see some pictures of you with this boy soon enough, Bucky.”

So there he was, five hours later with a t-shirt full of flour and other flavours, looking like a Hell's Kitchen reject, two cuts, a burnt middle finger (maybe it was a sign or something) and five pies sitting beautifully on his kitchen table. He actually took a picture, because this was simply too awesome for him. Jack had watched the entire disaster with total disinterest, at some point abandoning Bucky completely while he went and had a nap in the living room. He might or might not have found a new sneaker to chew. That was for Bucky to discover later.

Bucky took two more pictures of his great work and then used his cell to call his boyfriend (he was secretly calling Steve _his boyfriend_ , though they hadn't agreed on anything; you would have called him your boyfriend too, so shut up and stop judging).

“Hey, Buck,” Steve answered after three rings.

“Hey, Steve. You're at home?”

“Yeah. I'm hanging out with Sam, Nat, and Clint. We're playing Monopoly and Sam's a sore loser.”

“I'm not, Steve. Shut up!” Sam yelled in the background, making Bucky chuckle.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but can you come over for five minutes? I need your help with something.”

“Sure. Be there in five.”

Ah, the endless possibilities when the man he was romantically involved with (see, was this better?) lived so close to him. Bucky grinned even more when he heard Steve opening the front door and greeting Jack.

“Hey, Bucky. Where are you?”

“In the kitchen.”

Steve's face when he saw the utter mess in the kitchen was quite comical.

“I really hope you didn't ask me here to help you clean this up.”

“No, I'll do that later. Ta da!” Bucky exclaimed and extended his arms towards the pies. Steve's eyes widened so much, it was really funny looking at him. He was literally gaping like a fish.

“What's this?”

“So you said that you never had money when you were little to taste different pies. And I'm sure in the meantime you managed to do that, but you know what? I thought you deserved to have some pies baked for you,” Bucky rambled. “So this is pecan pie, apple pie – which is my favorite, just so you know – cherry, strawberry, and rhubarb pie. The last one was the most difficult to make and I'm not sure if it tastes all right, but I think at least it looks good.” Bucky shrugged and looked at Steve. “What do you think? Feeling like trying one?”

The silence that followed amplified Bucky's nervousness. It was a big gesture. He was very much aware of that, and maybe it was too early. But goddamn it, when you cared about somebody, you shouldn't be afraid to show it just because it was _too early_ or because you were afraid of what the other person might think, that it might give them leverage. And Steve's face. It showed only wonder and pure happiness as he finally turned to Bucky. His beautiful blue eyes were filled with affection (if Bucky hadn't had some residual fears of his own, he would have dared to call it _love_ ).

“You did this for me?”

“Yes.” Steve's hands sought Bucky's body as they got closer to each other, Bucky's hands resting on Steve's hips, Steve’s arms sneaking around Bucky's shoulders, holding him close as if he was something precious, something worth the awe in those blue eyes. “Is that all right?”

“Buck, nobody's ever done this for me.”

And wasn't that sad? Wasn't it sad that such a great guy like Steve had had no one in his entire life to do a nice gesture just for him? When Bucky cared about someone, he always tried to show his affection. He would try to do it as politely and as unoverwhelmingly as possible. But affection was there to be _given_ , not just talked about. He had little faith in words. His grandpappy always said that words would never equal action and in some cases that had been true. The raw pleasure in Steve's eyes, the intensity of his happiness for such a small gesture was unparalleled. Love (shut up) was about grand gestures at times, small at others. Love was about making the other person _feel_ it. Bucky wasn't afraid to show it to Steve because he thought Steve was worth it.

Steve leaned forward and kissed the hell out of Bucky, that fiery kiss saying more than words could about how Steve felt in that particular moment. Bucky gave as good as he got because Steve’s touch always made him want more, always made him feel like he belonged.

If he had enough brain to think about it, he would have wondered about why when Ethan had told him his scars didn’t mean anything to him, Bucky hadn’t believed him, but when Steve had said it, Bucky accepted it immediately. And it was more than enough.

He didn't, though, his ability to think melting as Steve kissed him and Bucky lost himself. And when Steve dropped to his knees and pushed down Bucky's sweats, well, let's just say it lasted an embarrassingly short amount of time.

“Do you mind if we share them with the others?” Steve asked a little shy after they cleaned themselves up and Bucky grabbed a clean t-shirt.

“Nope. Do you mind if Jack comes along?”

“Nope.”

Steve smiled radiantly at him as they packed the pies (he was going to eat two slices of apple pie, goddamn it) and followed by Jack, they went to Steve's house where the others were sprawled in the living room, talking shit as they'd abandoned their Monopoly game.

“What's this?” Sam asked as soon as he saw them. He stood up and went to help them.

“Well, Wilson, my boyfriend baked me some pies and we brought them here to share with you,” Steve said gleefully (no, nuh, nope, Bucky's heart didn't stop like you thought it would. But there was a thirteen-year-old girl inside of him who was dancing samba at the moment. For some odd reason, Bucky was really fixated on that dance.)

“You baked Rogers here pies?” Natasha asked and Bucky might have just imagined it, but he thought there was most definitely a shadow of a smile on her lips.

“Yes, he told me how he always wanted to try all different flavors of pies.”

“I thought your favorite was apple,” Clint said, scratching his stomach. “Wait a minute! Is that rhubarb pie? My mama used to make this.”

“Help yourself, Clint,” Bucky said as Steve was already cutting his own slice, then added a slice of each pie on his plate. “Hey, buddy, you don't need to taste them all today. They're all yours, they'll be here tomorrow.”

“I'm a growing boy, Bucky, I can handle it,” Steve told him, then went to settle on the couch digging with much gusto into the cherry pie. Bucky looked to Sam for help, because out of everyone present, Sam had always struck him as the most level-headed, but the man ignored him in favor of cutting himself two slices of pecan pie. Bucky shook his head and smiled as he cut a slice of apple pie.

“Hurt him and I'll kill you, Barnes,” Natasha said into his ear. Bucky raised his eyes to her, realizing they were alone in the kitchen now. “And I'll make sure it hurts.”

“Hey, that's not fair.” Bucky ignored her cold eyes to dig into his apple pie. “Nobody's threatened Steve on my part.”

“Who says I haven't?” Natasha winked at him, making Bucky almost choking on his pie.

“Are you telling me you threatened him on _my_ behalf?”

“Well, someone has to do it, Barnes, since you walk around with your heart on your sleeve where anyone can stomp on it.” She smirked, looking rather pleased with herself. “I threatened to hurt his baby.”

“The Harley?” Bucky smirked in response.

“Yes.”

“Did you do it for me or just to see his face?”

“Both.” She winked again, so Bucky left the kitchen laughing out loud and shaking his head. Steve came with baggage and some really weird ass friends, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

The following weeks were spent spending time together, sometimes babysitting Luz together, sometimes babysitting Lucky and Jack (apparently, they got along like a house on fire and Bucky found it hilarious at times how his dog was basically charmed by this mangy looking Labrador); long conversations whispered in the dead of the night when nightmares sometimes woke Steve, shared experiences and secret pains of which they could only whisper in the dark, unable to face each other, but holding tight conversations about broken promises and survivor's guilt and not knowing their place in the world. Long evenings when they'd play stupid board games with Sam and sometimes Natasha and Clint, discovering Steve’s competitive side and liking it, especially if they won against Natasha and Clint. Days spent talking on the phone and little texts like:

_I think I saw Lin-Manuel Miranda today. Yay for me._

And _I feeling like eating spaghetti with meatballs. Bucky, make me some._

 _Nice try, pal_.

And _Jack is looking at me weird today. I think he's plotting something._

 _Bucky, stop being paranoid and get back to work_.

Sharing their love for art and sketches.

It wasn't all perfect. They fought about Steve's tendency to take his self-righteousness to the extreme, still asking people to step outside, and Bucky's insecurities and sometimes inability to break himself free of certain routines. They weren't perfect but they were damn close to it. They discovered each other's bodies through scalding caresses and open kisses and ravenous touches and it was terrifying and dazzling and wonderful, all at the same time.

Before he knew it, there were only a few days left until he had to leave for Indiana, keeping his promise to his parents, and he really didn't want to go. Especially since Steve was increasingly being called to work. His most recent mission was only supposed to last a couple of days, but he still hadn't called by the end of the second day.

Bucky tried not to sigh like a love-sick puppy (seriously, who was he kidding? He was in that honeymoon period when he missed Steve like air) but he was failing miserably. He checked his phone one more time before unlocking the door, but alas, Prince Charming hadn't called. Or texted, for that matter. While Bucky actively tried not to worry, there was still that residual fear that would never go away. How his parents managed to survive during _his_ years in the military was a complete mystery to him.

As always, God had a twisted sense of humor when it came to Bucky. The minute he entered the house, he immediately sensed that something was off. Jack hadn't welcomed him and Bucky's heart clenched.

“Jack! Jack, here boy! Where are you?” He quickly checked the living room and the kitchen but there was nothing but a foul smell, whose source Bucky identified rather quickly when he noticed patches of diarrhea in the kitchen and two in the living room. But when he saw the vomit, Bucky's heart stopped completely.

He took the stairs two at a time, only to see Jack breathing heavily in front of Bucky's bedroom door. He'd managed to pull one of Bucky's t-shirts out of the hamper and he was lying with his head half on it, whining softly. He thumped his tail once as Bucky knelt next to him, hands shaking uncontrollably as he finally touched Jack.

“Hey, boy.” His voice broke. “What happened?” Jack only whined again and the sound tore Bucky to shreds. The small utterly miserable sound was definitely a soundtrack from hell, and it made Bucky want to vomit himself. He gently scooped Jack in his arms, trying to put as little pressure as possible on his belly, which seemed tight with tension. “It's going to be all right, Jack. You just hang in there, it's going to be fine. I'm here now!”

There were no more memories after that. Even now, Bucky wouldn't be able to explain how he got down the stairs, with Jack wrapped in his t-shirt as he whined, whether he locked the door behind him or not, whether he broke the speed limit as he tried to reach the twenty-four hour veterinary emergency clinic, all the while trying to reassure Jack that everything would be fine. He didn't even remember what he told the vet and the nurse that immediately took Jack in. He only remembered the moment he leaned against the wall in the waiting room and let himself fall to the floor as he called the one person who could make him feel better.

_Hi, this is Steve. Can't talk right now. Please, leave a message._

“Hey, Stevie?” Bucky released a sob that just about suffocated him. “There's something wrong with Jack. We're at the emergency clinic. If you can, please come. I really need you.” Bucky rattled off the address, then hung up and buried his head in his hands. What was he going to do without Jack?

His grandpappy had given him Jack right before he died when Jack was just a puppy. For a while, Bucky could barely look at the dog. When he'd had the chance, he'd run away to complete the Pacific Coast Trail rather than face those puppy eyes. When he returned, more than three months later, the world had changed with the rebirth of Captain America and the emergence of the Avengers. But not Jack. The puppy not only remembered Bucky, but he followed him everywhere, crashing at his feet, already chewing his sneakers. And God help him, but Bucky fell in love with that goddamn puppy and his intelligent eyes and he never wanted to be apart from him again.

Jack had been with him through breakups (with Ethan) and breakdowns (some parts of his life were going to remain unspoken, this was going to be one of them), through drunk and lonely nights, through nightmares and sleepless nights. Jack was his companion and best friend, and maybe it was sad to think of him like that and maybe it wasn't, but he sure as hell couldn't picture his life without Jack.

Bucky felt more than heard when Steve sat down next to him and put his arm around Bucky's shoulders, a rock in a storm, and by God, Bucky loved him for it. He wasn't afraid to admit it to himself anymore, especially now, when he was on the brink of losing someone dear to him (yes, Jack was a person to him, the only thing his dog couldn't do was talk; other than that, a lot of the times he was even better than most humans Bucky had met).

Bucky raised his head and looked at Steve. Steve, whose t-shirt was for the first time wrinkled, whose hair was in disarray, who smiled encouragingly at Bucky, and who came. _He came, he came, he came,_ his heart sang. Steve had rushed to the clinic to be with Bucky, to support him. Steve who didn't think that being worried sick over a dog was stupid, who cared about Jack as well. Looking at Steve's stupidly handsome face, concern and worry etched into his features, along with affection and unyielding support, Bucky came to the realization that he was in love with Steve Rogers.

It didn't sow fear in his heart.

It gave him the peace that he'd craved for so long. It gave him support as he hid his face in Steve's shoulder and took a deep breath. It gave him the strength to face whatever was going to happen next.

“It's going to be all right,” Steve whispered gently as he massaged the nape of his neck. “Jack's a strong boy. He's going to make it.”

“How do you know?” Bucky mumbled into Steve's skin, unable to cope with reality right now, but comforted by Steve's pulse under his cheek. “I'm a bad parent! I should have taken better care of him.”

“Don't blame yourself.” Steve's touches became even more soothing. Bucky wanted to hide in his body and never leave. “We don't know what happened, but I promise you it's not your fault. Let's just hope Jack will be okay, all right?”

“Yeah.” Bucky hung on. “Steve? I'm really glad you're here.”

Steve didn't say anything, just hugged Bucky tighter and they stayed like that on the floor, waiting for any news. And just when Bucky thought that he couldn't take it anymore and he'd have to stop someone and make them tell him something, a vet entered the waiting room and then froze. The vet seemed puzzled as to how to proceed, which made Bucky's heart seize; the news couldn't be good.

Bucky's anxiety was so high, it took Steve's strong hand to get him up the floor and then he remained mostly plastered to his boyfriend. It felt like the moment just before the doctor braced him or herself to deliver bad news, peppered with platitudes no one ever wanted to hear.

“Just tell me, doc, straight up: is he going to make it?” Bucky asked, his voice a quivering mess.

“Yes, Jack is going to be fine, Mr. Barnes,” the vet finally answered, shaking himself out of his momentary stupor. Perhaps, before Afghanistan, it wouldn't have affected him as much. Wouldn't have made him feel weak at the knees. If not for Steve's strength, he might have sat right back down on the floor in sheer exhaustion and relief. The vet quickly explained that it had been a virus that had been going around, Bucky shouldn't worry about it too much, that most likely the worst had passed. He was going to prescribe some tablets to be given twice a day and they were going to keep Jack under observation for the rest of the night, but he was confident the dog would be fine.

“Thank you so much,” Bucky said with all the gratitude he could muster after going through such a roller-coaster of emotions. “I really appreciate it.”

“You're welcome. I'm just glad I could help,” the vet replied, looking rather flustered, but Bucky put it down to receiving thanks and being uncomfortable with it. “I'm going to let you check on Jack now and then you can come and pick him up the morning.”

“But are you sure he's going to be fine?” Bucky asked one more time.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” the vet said, smiling indulgently. “Jack's a good dog and he's going to be just fine.”

“Thank you.” Bucky made himself take a deep breath and forced his mind to focus on the practicalities. Jack was going to be fine. “Do I need to pay now or when I pick him up tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, no, we won't accept any money from any friends of Captain America.” Bucky' mouth was opened to ask _What?_ , to explain that there'd been some sort of mistake when the vet blushed harder as he turned his eyes towards Steve. “Captain Rogers, sir, I just want to let you know, sir, that I admire you very much. I think you are by far the greatest strategist of our times and-”

If he hadn't been so horrified by the idea that all this time he'd been _Captain America's_ _boyfriend_ , he would have laughed out loud at how badly that doctor sounded like a fanboy and how much he obviously wanted to ask for Steve's autograph, decorum barely keeping him in check. The vet kept babbling and all Bucky could think as he stared at Steve's terrified face was that Bucky Barnes had been the dumbest shit that ever lived on this earth and kudos to Rogers for letting him wallow so deep in so much obliviousness (and, some part of Bucky forcing him to be fair to Steve, even after this, maybe a tiny bit of denial).

He felt so stupid. So utterly stupid. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole. It didn't, unfortunately. As he finally took a step away from Steve and then another and another, he felt like his life would crash and burn a second time.

It was going to be a fucking disaster. And he deserved it all.

 

Chapter seven

 

_In which Bucky is just a man in love_

 

Bucky spent the drive home feeling like a complete and utter moron. A filled with shame and stupidity moron. Because seriously, how he could not have guessed? How could he not recognize the man whose face had been plastered everywhere since the beginning of time? Well, okay, since the beginning of Bucky's life, but goddamn it, how he could not see it?

So yeah, Bucky had looked Steve Rogers up on Facebook in the beginning to see whether he could find his new neighbour (do not even pretend you never did that, or weren't at least tempted – God only knows how Bucky resisted the temptation to search for him everywhere else). There were _a lot_ of Steve Rogers because hey, the name didn't belong solely to this guy.

This guy... about whom Bucky had only just admitted to himself (thank God for small mercies) that he'd fallen in love with. This guy rushed over, probably from very important Avengers-related business (and that thought nearly sent Bucky into hysterics) just to be with Bucky because his dog was sick, and also inadvertently solved the payment issue as well.

The guy that was following him home on his bike right now.

Bucky stopped at a red light. He looked around the fairly quiet streets. The street lamps flickered irritatingly. There was nothing romantic about the night and coming down from the adrenaline rush did no favors for the city landscape. Bucky suddenly slammed his left hand on the dashboard. The sound burst into the silence of the car like a cracker meant to destroy the little peace Bucky had gathered. Almost without his consent, his other hand moved against the steering wheel. He slammed his hands against it again and again and again. When the light finally changed to green, he continued his journey home feeling shattered.

By the time he reached home, his knuckles were white with the strain of keeping himself together. The flutters low in his belly were definitely giving him a queasy feeling and he was less than inclined to get out of the car. A slight burning sensation in his eyes was the only sign that he might cry and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to keep himself in check. He was a fucking adult. No matter how stupid he felt at the moment, he refused to bow down to his emotions.

He blinked rapidly and was just about to open the door to his truck when he froze. Steve was waiting for him on the steps. He must have sped up to get there before Bucky, probably to make sure Bucky wouldn't slam the door in his face. Not that Bucky would be able to. It was fucking _Steve_ , after all.

They stared at each other in the silence of the night.

 _Steve was Captain America_.

This simple truth hurt more than if Steve had been standing on the steps holding Bucky's heart in his hands, squeezing his life away. Bucky had been a blind fool, but damn if Steve hadn't helped. All he could do was stare at that man with his hopeful blue eyes, with his handsome face marred by fear, hunching again. Bucky hated him a little in that moment, but it was the type of hate reserved for his dearest people. The steering-wheel groaned under the pressure of his grip.

Time to face the music.

Bucky pushed out of his truck as if he was a hundred years old. He walked past Steve who stood silently and followed him. The locks sounded too loud in the silence of the night, ratcheting the tension up a notch. As he came inside, Steve faltered, but Bucky left the door open behind him. He couldn't find it in him to slam the door in Steve's face and be done with it.

They were in the living room when Steve broke the tense silence between them by saying his name. It sounded a lot like pleading, it sounded like hurt.

“Bucky...”

“Don't, Steve! Just don't,” Bucky said, abruptly pushing past Steve on his way to the kitchen, not wanting to hear explanations that wouldn't be good enough.

“Bucky, please, we need to talk about this.”

“No? This is what we need to talk about? _This_?” Bucky seethed with all the shameful anger of the discovery. “If we'd had this conversation at the very beginning, things would've been different, Steve, that's for sure. I mean, jeez, you and your fucking teammates must have had a laugh riot at my expense. I must have been the most hilarious topic of conversation you guys have had for months: _look, the moron the absolute fucking idiot who didn't recognize us_. _Us_! In this day and age! Wow, I'm the greatest sorry-ass idiot alive!”

Steve's mouth thinned so far it felt like Bucky had thrown a punch. He crossed his arms in an attempt to shield himself. Ha, _shield_. And people said Bucky Barnes had no sense of humor. The entire situation seemed so absurd at the moment that an empty sort of laughter bubbled up inside of him and he had to swallow several times to stop it from escaping.

“You know we'd never do that. _I'_ d never do that,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice level and barely succeeding. “And yes, it's true: we should have told you. _I_ should have told you the truth. And you've got every right to be mad, but I'm not going to stand here and not try and defend myself. Because you've got to admit it, Buck. At least to yourself. More than a bit of denial was involved.” Steve took a deep breath and his voice cracked. “Why? Why is it so bad that I'm Captain America? It's just a name, Bucky, just an image. You know the real me. I'm more Steve Rogers with you than I've ever been in _my entire life_ , including the decades I spent frozen.”

There was a sort of despair within Bucky that gripped tight at his insides, poisoning everything in its wake. Here was the man he loved standing in front of him, asking to be believed and yet... Yet there'd been many times in his life when Bucky had been a coward: with Ethan, with grandpappy, even with Becca a few years back. But never before had he felt like such an utter coward than in this moment when he had to sit and hide his face from Steve.

His own harsh breaths couldn't mask the sounds of the chair scraping in front of him. He looked up at Steve, his own pain mirrored on that beloved face. Bucky hated and loved him at the same time.

“You say you didn't lie to me, but you did,” Bucky said flatly, not able to keep the judgment out of his voice. Steve's breath faltered. “You should have told me, Stevie, you should have fucking told me. Because I know it's me who avoids anything on the news about the Avengers, hard as it may be, and I know it was me who didn't bother, who maybe _chose_ not to wonder about the fact that you had the same name as Captain America or the fact that you were going off on missions at the same time as Captain America faced new challenges with his Avengers. Yes, I am a fucking moron. But you could have told me the truth, Steve. At any time, you could have saved me from my own stupidity.”

“And say what, Bucky? Hey, by the way, I'm Captain America? I didn't lie!” Steve pressed out each word as if he could convince both of them.

“Lying by omission is lying.” Bucky gently took one of Steve's hands and his eyes turned liquid. “You did lie to me. When I asked you about the baseball cap, you could have told me that you were afraid of being recognized as Captain America.” Bucky kissed Steve's hand and brought it to his forehead, closing his eyes against the tears that streamed down his cheeks. “You could have told me the truth, goddamn you. Because you _are_ Captain America and I'm just that damn stupid Bucky Barnes kid, who's still a mess even after so many years after Afghanistan. Because I don’t think the world even knows Captain America is bisexual. Because your world is violence and I'm trying to put as much distance between me and violence as I possibly can.” Bucky took a shaky breath as he finally dared to look into Steve's pained eyes, as liquid as his own. “Because you're _you_ , goddamn you, you're you and I'm _me_ and there's an abyss that separates us.”

“Don't, Bucky!” Steve repeated Bucky's own words, his voice shot to hell. He put his other hand on top of Bucky's. “Please don't. I've been more real with you than in my entire life. At first, I was just silly skinny Steve, who shouldn't have been alive. Then suddenly I was Captain America and Steve was gone. Only the Howling Commandos and Peggy knew the real me. Bucky, I spent more years trapped in the ice than being my own person.” His thumb gently drew circles on Bucky's skin. “And then you show up: you don't gush about how perfect I am, you don't act like I'm a man out of my time when I don't understand the references you make. You don't have any qualms about telling me I'm an idiot and an asshole when I'm looking for a fight. You make me feel _real_ , Bucky, so real sometimes it's hard to breathe around you. Please,” Steve's voice cracked into a thousand pieces, “please, don't let this come between us.”

There they were: two grown men holding hands in the kitchen, crying silently because, between the two of them, they had so many issues they could sink the Titanic twice over. On a certain level, Bucky was very much aware he was dumping a lot of his own issues on Steve, he just couldn't face his insecurities. This man, _this man_ that Bucky admitted to himself that he loved was Captain America. All those stories that grandpappy mentioned, all those lessons from the history class were echoing through his own miserable mind. And he thought: if he found himself lacking, what about the world?

When the world found out he was Captain America’s boyfriend, how would the world react? Like Natasha, who invaded their privacy because she'd been afraid something had happened to Steve? Like Clint, who didn't care much? Like Sam, who'd pushed them together in a way? Who was he going to be in this story? The hero or the villain? And God, his past would be checked and rechecked. Every little sordid detail brought into the light. His time in the army, his honorable discharge (thank God for small mercies), his issues before and after. People would judge and they would judge hard. He didn't know whether he'd have the courage to face such scrutiny, such judgment.

But what if he could have Steve?

Wasn't that the million dollar question? If he had the courage to fight for Steve. If only he could say that nothing else mattered. But down here in the mud, things were different. Ultimately Bucky knew that his problems could be reduced to only one issue: if only he could be worthy of Steve.

“I need to think,” he finally mumbled and pulled his hands away, because it was too much and facing the gut-wrenching pain marring Steve's features was absolutely devastating. “I need time and I need to think,” he repeated as if saying those words several times would gain them the necessary legitimacy.

“You need time...” Steve repeated. He leaned back and stared at Bucky. “You can have as much time as you want, Buck,” he finally agreed but there was a hollowness in his voice that clawed at Bucky's heart. It made him feel so guilty. And wasn't that the gist of it? Why, for the love of all things holy, had he been so stupid? So oblivious? No one in their right mind would let Captain America go.

But here he was. Letting go.

Steve got up and almost left before turning back and adding, “I'll wait for you, Buck. You're worth waiting. Remember that.”

The silence that followed was the worst of Bucky's life. Nothing compared to it, not even all those sleepless nights in recovery after the excruciating sessions from PT could measure up to that silence. Jack in the hospital, Steve with a broken heart. Well, when it came to painful messes, he was the master. It was almost soothing to know he hadn’t lost his touch at hurting himself. The hollow laugh that echoed in the empty kitchen was almost heart-breaking. But did he dare to call everything heart-breaking when the whole mess was his fault in the first place?

He relocated to his bedroom, lying down on the bed above the covers, unable to sleep, just staring up at the ceiling. There was no answer that night.

Not even the next morning when he blearily went to pick Jack up and ignored everyone fussing over him, because apparently during the night, the rumour that Bucky Barnes was Captain America's friend had spread. It was an exercise in torture, insisting on paying for everything. It was an exercise in torture to leave from there, with Jack feeling better, but Bucky feeling worse.

Was he the only one who hadn't realized that Steve was Captain America? The only other person close to him that had met Steve was Isidora and she'd failed to recognize him as well, although she'd mentioned that he seemed familiar. Ice ran through Bucky's body and he picked up this cell, hit by a sudden awful thought.

“What do you want, chico?” Isidora answered, sounding vaguely irritated. “I was just about to take Luz for her afternoon nap and you interrupted us.”

“Did you know?” he asked, his voice a little rough around the edges.

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know that Steve was Captain America?” The silence that followed was so full of meaning that Bucky would have laughed, had anything been even remotely funny. “What the hell, Isidora? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Well, at first I thought that you knew and didn't want to make a thing out of it. Then I kind of realized that you were totally oblivious and I thought it best that this revelation should come from Steve.” She took a deep breath. “What's so bad about it, anyway?”

“What's so bad about it? What's so bad about it, she asks.” His incredulity reached whole new levels but Isidora had little patience for his bullshit and she'd known him for too damn long to let him continue.

“Don't even bother, Bucky,” she snapped at him. “It's not like you discovered Steve was one of the ultimate villains. He's just Captain America. You know very well that at this point you're not angry at him, you're mad at yourself for not realizing it sooner.”

“He's fucking Captain America!” Bucky raised his voice. “Does the world know that Captain America is bisexual? I don't think so. Did you even think that there're risks getting involved with an _icon_? For fuck's sake, am I the only one that thinks this is one major clusterfuck?”

“Don't raise your voice at me, Bucky Barnes.” Isidora snapped back. “Neither Steve nor I are guilty of you being completely oblivious and choosing to believe whatever _you_ wanted to believe. Besides the world gets to know Captain America, you have the privilege of knowing Steve Rogers and that's a million times better. And if the world hasn't found out so far, you do realize you could keep this under wraps for longer, right? Yes, at some point, people might find out, but hey, everybody knows that Pepper Potts is Stark's fiancé and you don't see that stopping her from living her goddamn life. Grow some fucking balls, admit that you love the man and continue with the relationship. Because I for one haven't seen you this happy since high school.”

“I'm sorry.” Bucky pinched his nose in an attempt to bring his emotions under control. “It's just... “

“Don't tell me he's flawless, because he's far from it and you damn well know it!”

“But he's so close to perfection.”

“And I bet in his eyes, you're just as goddamn close,” Isidora said, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. “Ai mi vida, don't you see what's happening here, Bucky? You're making the same fucking mistake that you made when you were with Ethan.”

“That's not fair.”

“No, it's not. Especially for you. Because Ethan was a good man, Bucky, and he loved you, but you broke his heart when you refused to move in with him. Not because you didn't love him, but because you didn't think you deserved him. And now, you're trying to repeat goddamn history all over again with Steve. When are you going to let yourself be happy? Why are you so stubborn about making yourself miserable?”

“Steve is not Ethan,” Bucky's voice faltered.

“He's so much more, isn't he?” Isidora asked him gently and Bucky was wracked with a sob. Jack whined in distress and rested his snout against Bucky's hand. Isidora paused before adding a bit more emotionally, “Please, _please_ , Bucky, I know you're only seeing the risks of being in love with him right now. I know that being in a relationship with a man who's also an icon won't be easy, but Bucky... think about your gains. Think about his love for you – because I've got no doubt that man loves you – and about _Steve_. Could you really give up _that_? Isn't that worth fighting for?”

“I don't know. I don't know.” Bucky carded his fingers through his hair and tugged hard at it. “I'm such a coward.”

“You're not. You're not, Bucky,” Isidora insisted. “You just need to start believing you deserve to be happy.”

“And what if I don't?”

“Then I think you'll lose Steve. And you'll also lose yourself. For good this time. So you need to take a chance, Bucky. You need to be brave and take the goddamn chance.”

Bucky remained silent for a few more minutes and then hung up. Yes, that was the main issue after all. It wasn't that Steve lied about being Captain America (lying by omission _was_ lying in his book so arguing about that was a moot point). He'd created an image of the man and that image didn't shatter on the revelation. On the contrary, the image outgrew the man and made Bucky forget that, in the end, Steve was just another man. Yes, that wasn't the point. The point was that, upon this revelation, Bucky, who already had issues galore, didn't think he was worthy of such a man.

Worthiness was the main issue.

Wasn't that funny? Steve considered him worthy of waiting for, worthy of his love and attention, worthy of his unconditional support and acceptance. It was _Bucky_ couldn't accept his own worthiness.

So Bucky did what he'd always done when faced with difficult decisions or issues.

He ran away.

It took him a few minutes to pack a duffel bag, all that military training put to work. He made sure to grab what Jack needed and quickly loaded the truck. Every time he went out, he was terrified he'd run into Steve or one of the other Avengers (thinking about them like that almost made him laugh). He made Jack, still sleepy from his stay in the hospital, comfortable in the truck, called Dean Warren and left a message to tell him he'd be out of the area for the next two weeks, and then drove off.

It'd take him around twelve hours to drive to Indiana, maybe another hour to reach his parents' farm, but the thought of staying in New York for one more minute was almost appalling. He drove on without thinking of much of anything, the radio and Jack's soft snores as their sole companions. As evening descended, Bucky made a pit stop for food and to walk Jack, who seemed much better.

It was almost funny, looking at him so happy to be moving around, peeing on a wide variety of different bushes, and drinking a little bit of water, before settling into the back seat of the truck, falling asleep almost as soon as Bucky started the engine. He called his parents to let them know about his upcoming arrival, but then he switched off his cell and refused to think about anything else.

When they arrived in the early hours of the morning, the porch light was on and Bucky and Jack crashed in the guest room almost as soon as they arrived. He slept soundly with no dreams, a small mercy. He slept so well he didn't even hear his dad when he came to take Jack out for a walk around the farm. His dog was back to being his energetic self with no regard for personal space. He slobbered and licked Winnie and George as if they were long lost friends of his and then after eating a little, he followed George for a nice walk around the farm while Winnie prepared breakfast.

It was almost noon when Bucky woke up. He quickly took a shower in the adjacent bathroom, and brushed his teeth but avoided looking in the mirror, not even realising his five o'clock shadow made him look like a homeless person. He changed into cleans sweats and a white t-shirt and went downstairs.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my prodigal son!” Winnie exclaimed as soon as she saw him and grinned even more when her son winced. Like a dutiful son, however, he hugged his mom before plopping down at the table. A cup of coffee was almost immediately shoved under his nose. He'd always loved his grandparents' kitchen, soft tones of yellow on the walls, well lit, the sun almost always blessing the room with its presence. He took three gulps of coffee before the silence was broken.

“So are you going to tell me what made you run for the hills from New York?” his mom poked as she put a full plate in front of him. The simple yet delicious smell of it made him instantly realize how hungry he was and he dug in as he shrugged in response. “That's not an answer, Bucky, and you well know it.”

“I had an argument with Steve,” he grumbled, trying to speak and chew at the same time. “It didn't go very well.”

“Was it your or his fault?”

“Both I guess.”

“Is it final?”

“I don't know.”

“Are you going to tell me about it at some point?” Bucky shrugged again – it seemed his default setting by now – and resumed eating, his mother watching him like a hawk. “I just have one more question.”

“God, ma, what?” Upon seeing his mom's stern look, Bucky turned his attention back to his food, not before muttering a pitiful _sorry_.

“How long do you plan on staying?” his mom asked and Bucky made a conscious effort not to shrug again. His mom would surely say something and it wouldn't end nicely for him.

“Two weeks, maybe more.”

“Are you running away from your problems again?” his mom asked, pushing some more. He slammed his fork on the table, scowling at his mom, who simply watched him impassively and drank her coffee. “Why are you so angry? It's a legitimate question. Last time you went to the Pacific Crest Trail and we heard from you twice in almost four months. Once to check and see whether everything was all right after the alien invasion, and the second time to send you money for the trip home. I just want to know whether you're running away from your problems like you did back then or if you're simply putting a bit of distance between you and Steve while you sort your things out.”

“Can't I just eat in peace without getting the third degree?” Bucky snapped, picking up his fork and stuffing his mouth with bacon. His mom seemed almost amused.

“I guess you can. But I won't let you run away this time, Bucky. I raised no coward.”

George and Jack's arrival interrupted their conversation. His dog wagged his tail happily and licked Bucky's face enthusiastically. Having so much space to run and play was already doing wonders for his dog.

It was doing something similar for Bucky. Once he got away from mom's interrogation, it seemed all the worst had been left behind. He spent the rest of the day with his father tinkering around Betsy and having a spin.

His father took a picture of him on Betsy with Jack in the side-car, and he sent it to Becca, who immediately called them to laugh in Bucky's ear and express her annoyance at them for not telling her they were having a family reunion. Plans for a family gathering were made for the following week as both Becca and her husband, Ben(laugh all you can), could take some time off and join them together with their children.

His mom left him alone, no more questions, and they spent the evening playing board games, Winnie winning ten dollars from both her husband and her son. That woman was like a shark. And if his parents noticed that, every once in a while, Bucky would stare off into the distance with a pained look on his face, they didn't mention it and let him go to bed that night without any more questions.

If he didn't sleep that well because by then he was used to Steve's weight against his body, well, that was another story that only he and Jack needed to know. He might also have made a cup of tea and sat on the porch watching the sky full of stars, Jack dozing at his feet and _wishing_ , wishing so hard that Steve would just be there with him.

The following morning, after breakfast, his dad asked him to help repair the lawnmower, while Jack and Winnie took a trip to the city. Bucky welcomed the physical work with an open heart, but he should have known better.

He should have smelled his mom's meddling from a thousand miles away.

“So what happened, Bucky?” George asked after they'd been cleaning parts for a while. Bucky immediately groaned.

“Oh dad. Did mom put you up to this?”

“You do realize I can worry about my son without your mom actually telling to, right?”

“Sorry, dad.” Bucky rubbed the part harder than was necessary. “I don't want to talk about it. I thought I made that clear with ma.”

“I can respect that...” George picked up another part, but Bucky could feel his father's eyes on him. “When grandpappy was alive, I was jealous of him. I think I even resented him a little at times.” George said after a few minutes. When Bucky raised his eyes, his father simply concentrated on the piece of machinery in his lap.

“Why?”

“It felt like he was taking you away from me.”

“Dad! You know I'd never -”

“I know, Bucky, I know.” His father smiled kindly at him. “It was just my own stupid insecurity. I thought that maybe I wasn't a good father, that maybe grandpappy was better at it than me. After all, who could compete with a man that fought alongside Captain America and built a life from scratch? I always compared myself to him and found myself lacking, even though he never once tried to make me feel that way.” George shook his head. “At times I thought he wanted to take you away from me because you two had such a goddamn close relationship. You'd call and tell him stuff you'd never tell me. You came here any chance you got. You weren't like other highschoolers wanting parties and boyfriends. You wanted to be with him, carve wood and help him around the farm. And I resented him for it.”

“Dad, you know I love you, right?” Bucky stopped cleaning the part and grabbed his father's shoulder, each year a little frailer, but still just as strong. His dad looked back with the kind of love that only a parent could show. “I've never thought of you any less.”

“I know that, Bucky. But this is what I thought at the time. Until I realized that it was my own goddamn issue, my own sense of self. By comparing myself with grandpappy, I managed to lose the true image of myself as a father. But then I noticed that, even though I might have not been perfect, when you looked at me, you did it with love. Even when you resented me for punishing you, your love never faded from your eyes. At your high school graduation, when you came running at me grinning and showing me your diploma, me, before anyone else, I knew that I was wrong. I was worthy in your eyes and that was enough for me. I hoped I did well by you, and even later, when you chose to enlist, I was proud of you, Bucky. I've always been so proud of you. You must know that.”

Bucky didn't realize he was crying until his dad reached for his cheeks and brushed his tears aside, before cupping his face between his calloused hands, his own eyes as liquid as Bucky's.

“Why are you telling me this, dad?” he croaked, pushing the words past the sudden lump in his throat.

“Because I think you might have inherited this flaw from me. I've noticed that over the years, you've always been your toughest critic. When you did something wrong, you let the blame drown you, even if your mom and I thought you did well in apologizing and making amends.” His father moved his hands on Bucky's shoulders and squeezed lightly. “And I think I should have told you a long time ago that it's all right to forgive ourselves, it's all right to make mistakes as long as you try your best. Because you, my son, are worthy of what's best in this world. In spite of all the sins you think you might have committed, in spite of all the anger and the pain you've been through, you are worthy of love and kindness and a good life. You are _worthy_.”

Bucky sobbed as he launched himself into his father's arms and cried like a baby. He cried for his eighteen-year-old self who thought he might change the world by enlisting. He cried for the wrecked self that came back from that dusty and hot hell. He cried for all those times when he let himself be unhappy. He cried for his older self that thought he was unworthy of Ethan's love. He cried for grandpappy and how much he missed him, and he cried because he loved his goddamn parents and how well they knew him even after so much time and distance. He cried and cried and cried mostly for Steve and how much love Bucky had in his heart for him and how it might be too late when he went back to New York.

Later on in the afternoon, when his ma came home, she found him on the couch with puffy eyes listlessly watching a baseball game, while George mowed the backyard. She passed her fingers through his hair and then kissed his forehead, and Bucky hugged her tight and mumbled a _thank you_ into her belly. His mom squeezed a little tighter before letting him go and pretending she had to put the groceries away. Jack just settled next to him on the couch, nuzzling him every once in a while, but otherwise remaining calm and quiet.

Bucky was so peaceful for once not thinking about much of anything, that it took him a few good seconds to hear his mom shout at him from the hallway.

“Bucky, what did you do?”

“Nothing, ma.” Bucky wondered briefly if he'd drunk all of the milk or orange juice from the carton (his mom was a witch; she could tell if anyone in the house did that).

“Then would you care to explain to me why Hawkeye and Black Widow are standing on my porch demanding to have a word with you?” she called, tone perfectly reasonable, from the doorway.

Of course, his mom recognized them straight away, because everyone in the family but Bucky were perfectly modern people who could recognise important people when they saw them.

“Are they really here?” he asked, even as he was already standing up, ready to meet them himself.

“See for yourself.”

Indeed, Clint and Natasha (no fucking way he was going to use Avengers names for these assholes; they'd eaten his food, he'd babysat their dog, for crying out loud) were waiting for him on the porch, seemingly bored expressions on their faces, but Bucky's military training let him see through them.

As soon as they saw him, Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but Bucky beat her to it.

“You're here! Good! Did you fly?”

“Yes,” Clint said and rubbed his chin. “We came-”

“Not now,” Bucky said and took a few steps towards them. “I need you to take me to Steve.”

“And what if we don't want to?” Of course, it was Natasha. She was never going to be on his side again. He'd hurt Steve. Maybe they'd come here to break every little bone in his body. Maybe he deserved it, but first, he needed to see Steve. He needed to see Steve because he had one thing to say to him. After that, they could make him disappear for all he cared.

“You'll have to do it, anyway.” Bucky put on his sneakers and looked back at his mom: “Ma, I'll be back in time for dinner. Put another seat at the table. I'm going to go and get Steve.” His mother, born no fool, realized in an instant who he was talking about and smiled brightly.

“Will do,” she replied and looked thunderously at the two Avengers standing on her porch. “I see even a scratch on him, I'm coming after you. Do not underestimate the love of a mother for her son.”

“No, ma'am,” Clint replied sheepishly like Winnie Barnes was actually one of the most intimidating people he had faced. Even Natasha inclined her head a little in acknowledgment before whisking Bucky away.

Flying in an Avengers' plane? As cool as Bucky had thought it would be, which was to say _not at all_ , because Bucky hated flying and the thought of repeating it in just a few hours made him nauseous. Landing on the Stark, ahem, _Avengers_ tower? Well, okay _that_ was awesome but he wasn't going to admit it to anyone, least of all to those two punks up front who smiled knowingly at him.

If his insides didn't feel like mush and the sensation that he might throw up at any minute wasn't present, he'd have said something. As it was, he just flipped them off and then got off the plane, taking a few deep breaths.

Not even the AI that took them to the floor where Captain America was currently staying could take away Bucky's nervousness. Flying and elevators. Two of his worst fears in one day. He was so focused on his breathing, trying to decrease his anxiety to a manageable level, he barely realized the elevator doors had opened directly into a small hallway which led to a wide and well-lit living room. And he was welcomed straight away by Tony Stark ( _Tony Stark_ , his mind screamed hysterically because while he kind of hated the guy's ego, he was still proud to call him a fellow New Yorker - even with the amount of trouble he brought to the city).

“Bucky, I don't think-” Stark began but Bucky just pushed past him and headed straight for the man he'd come here for.

Steve looked like shit for the lack of a better word. His hair was greasy and there were shadows under his eyes. A sign of such humanity that Bucky shuddered because, dear God, he'd been _so_ stupid. He'd put that pain into those precious eyes, but not anymore. This was all going to stop right now. His cowardice and his stupidity.

He took a deep breath and stared into Steve’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Come back home, Stevie,” he said determined. “We'll have my house. We'll have my books and your paintings and Jack will be ours. Dad's going to make us ride Betsy, and mom's going to make us as many pies as we want.”

A sob pushed from Steve's lips and Bucky didn't realize he was crying too until the salty taste of one tear fell on the corner of his lips. “We'll have my family and your friends, we'll have Sean Bean movies and ice-cream. And I'll love you, Stevie. Throughout all of this, I'll love the hell out of you. 'til time will lose all meaning to us, 'til the end of the line and beyond. What do you say?”

Steve began to cry openly and hugged the hell out of Bucky. He didn't smell great, and he really needed to take a shower, but Bucky held on just as tight and cried just as hard. Because Bucky's life might occasionally have been a miserable hell, but he must have done something really good to deserve a man like Steve.

Love filled him up and it felt glorious, so he kept on whispering sweet nothings to the man he loved, the man he wanted to grow old with. And he was planning on being a very sexy old man so take that, stupid immortality. (That was actually a serious question that he needed to ask Steve and further investigate. Don't laugh – he needed to know if Steve was immortal; _no_ , he wasn't going to run away again, but he had to know whether he should invest later on in life in some plastic surgeries. Face lifts maybe? Botox? Don't laugh – it was a serious matter).

“I love you too, Buck,” Steve finally replied, his lips already seeking Bucky's. “So much. And I never want to be apart from you again.”

“Never, Stevie. I promise.” They kissed and God, nothing felt better than having Steve in his arms again, being kissed within an inch of his life and feeling loved. They smiled at each other, then Bucky scrunched up his nose. “Now go take a shower. Ma's expecting us for dinner, Stevie. And Captain America or no Captain America, she's not going to be impressed by you.”

“God, I missed you, you jerk,” Steve laughed, his cracked voice still betraying the emotion of the day, but Bucky just smiled softly back and kissed him lightly.

“But you love me, right, punk?”

“'til the end of the line, Buck.”

“You guys do realise you're not alone, right?” Bucky winced. Oh yeah, apparently Stark was as annoying as he thought he might be. Steve smiled apologetically and then went to take a shower leaving Bucky to face Clint, Natasha and Stark all by himself.

“So you're Stark,” he said, turning back to them.

“So you're Bucky.” Stark rolled his eyes, drinking his coffee. “I thought I'd never see the day, but Cap here really pined for you. Literally. I hope you're going to take care of him and not hurt him again, because we can send the Hulk after you and it won't end pretty.”

“Stop threatening me with the Avengers.” Bucky rolled his eyes right back at Stark and took a seat on the couch Steve had just vacated. “The worst my friends can threaten Steve with would be broken legs and a stolen Harley. Besides, Natasha already threatened me and, no offense, but she's scarier.”

“She doesn't seem effective, though.” Stark replied, then immediately dodged as a small knife passed inches away from his ear. “What, woman, what? Buckaroo here hurt Steve.”

“Technically, Steve hurt me.” Bucky scowled at Stark, although he felt vindicated by Natasha's gesture. He might like her after all. “Also Buckaroo?”

“I'm testing nicknames for you, Buckeye.”

“Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before.” Bucky just rolled his eyes again. Clint flopped on the couch next to him and passed him some crackers as Natasha switched on the TV. Stark watched all of these proceedings with an air of faint amusement.

“What? Are you all going to just accept Buchanan-wants-a-banana here?”

“Now you're just trying too hard,” Clint mumbled, spilling crumbs all over him. Natasha looked fondly at him (well, as much as Natasha could be fond of someone) and then slapped him over his head. Clint got the message and swallowed before adding, “Besides, Lucky likes him and he can speak ASL, unlike some people I could mention.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stark huffed an impatient sigh, “I'm just going to accept him because your bag of flies has a nice opinion. And hey, I created super hearing aids for you and what's your thanks?”

“I don't kill you in your sleep,” Natasha replied clearly bored with the conversation. “Or break your robots.” Tony paled at the possibility of his robots being hurt. “Who do you think keeps me in check?”

“I'm going to tell Banner you're being mean to me.”

“Please do.” Natasha nodded. “He might just join us.”

“You guys are no fun. We're wasting the perfect opportunity to play the doting parents-in-law.”

“Nah, thanks. I'd rather watch paint dry.” This must have been a great reply because Natasha's fingers started to play with Clint's hair, while Stark pouted at them both. And maybe Bucky might have appreciated this whole situation more if he wasn't so elated that Steve not only forgave him but he was coming back with him to Indiana to meet his parents.

Steve returned twenty minutes later with a small duffel bag, freshly showered, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt, with a pair of sneakers Jack had chewed on a few weeks ago. He was glorious and all the butterflies in his stomach couldn't hide the fact that, for the first time in his life Bucky was truly happy.

Natasha and Clint flew them back to Indiana, landing on a small patch of land that belonged to Bucky's uncle. They said their goodbyes, Bucky letting them know that Steve was going to spend two weeks with him at his parents' farm and that the world could survive for that long without its Captain.

They made their way back to the farm, walking slowly and holding hands. Bucky was humming softly under his breath while Steve admired the landscape. He squeezed Bucky's hand once to get his attention. “Do you think your parents will like me?”

“I think mom already likes you, and dad, well, he'll warm up to you.” Bucky winked making Steve laugh. Gone were the worry lines from his face, gone were the pained eyes. Steve was happy and that made Bucky all the happier. God, he made _this_ _man_ happy. So much power to have over a man's heart. He felt almost dizzy with it and vowed to never again hurt Steve if he could help it.

As promised, his parents welcomed them with open arms. His mom loved Steve instantly, not because he was Captain America, but because she was able to stuff Steve with as much food as she could cook; his boyfriend loved home-cooked meals and complimented her constantly. His dad did take a bit of time to warm up to Steve, but when he found out Steve had a Harley, and after seeing pictures of it, well, let's just say Barnes charm was put to good use and George gladly obtained a promise to ride that bike soon enough.

They made love in the morning then took walks around the farm, accompanied by Jack, who was more than happy to oblige. They ate pies as promised and rode Betsy and slept until late. They played board games against his parents and read late in the evenings. And when Becca and her family came the following week, they recognized Steve instantly, but they still asked him about his intentions and scrutinized his every move before deeming him worthy of Bucky's love.

The world kept turning without Captain America in New York. Not once was his help required. And it was glorious.

So this was where Bucky's story ended:

Bucky drove back to New York with Jack in the back seat, tongue lolling out as he watched the scenery and let the wind fluff his fur. He held Steve's hand as his boyfriend smiled happily every once in a while when he could take his eyes away from his current book: _Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_. More often than not, Steve would lift their intertwined hands and kiss Bucky's hand.

This was the perfect ending for Bucky. Another chapter of his life was about to begin. But for now, he was happy. He was gloriously happy. And in love. So much in love.

And that was all that mattered.

 

**The End**

 

** **

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a real-life event when I suffered from the same obliviousness as Bucky's, and I failed to recognize a famous person but carried on a conversation for over an hour with them while waiting for our delayed flight. It wasn't the first time it happened, it wouldn't be the last. So believe me, when I say that there are oblivious people in this world like Bucky in this story. :)
> 
> This was also a heavily researched fic, though it might not seem so at first glance. However, I knew nothing about wood carving, modern military operations and organization, Brooklyn, creepy google searches, and the best brand of vodka, as voted my some heavy drinkers. :))) 
> 
> If there are any mistakes left, know they are mine and mine alone. For the translation of the Spanish words, just hover over the words and you should be able to see their English translation (I apologise to any Spanish-speaking person if my Spanish seems wonky; I'm good at speaking it, I'm not good at writing it. Please, let me know if there's any mistake and I'll correct it.)
> 
> [Art](http://68.media.tumblr.com/391b841290c12d031e283381b5be4755/tumblr_ocfjigYjCp1rvoqw9o1_400.jpg) by the lovely [this-simple-mind](http://this-simple-mind.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And if you made it so far, I just want to thank you, dear reader, for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed it.


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